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SAN  DIEGO 


1822  01070   1522 


PS 


ask  you  just  one  thing— for  Virgie" 


THE 
LITTLEST  EEBEL 


BY 

EDWARD  PEPLE 

AUTHOR   OF    "A   PAIR   OF^SIXES, ' '    "THE 
PRINCE    CHAP,"    ETC.,    ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH  SCENES 
FEOM  THE  PHOTO-DRAMA 


NEW   YORK 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1914,  by 
MOFFAT.  YARD  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 


All  rights  retermd 


FOREWORD 

THE  play,  from  which  this  book  is  written,  was 
in  no  sense  of  the  word  intended  as  a  war 
drama;  for  war  is  merely  its  background,  and 
always  in  the  center  stands  a  lonely  little  child. 

War  is  its  theme  but  not  its  purpose.  War 
breeds  hatred,  horror,  pestilence  and  famine, 
yet  from  its  tears  and  ashes  eventually  must 
rise  the  clean  white  spirit  of  HUMANITY. 

The  enmity  between  North  and  South  is 
dead;  it  sleeps  with  the  fathers  and  the  sons, 
the  brothers  and  the  lovers,  who  died  in  a  cause 
which  each  believed  was  just. 

Therefore  this  story  deals,  not  with  the  right 
or  wrong  of  a  lost  confederacy,  but  with  the 
mercy  and  generosity,  the  chivalry  and  human- 
ity which  lived  in  the  hearts  of  the  Blue  and 
Gray,  a  noble  contrast  to  the  grim  brutality  of 
war. 

•  •••••• 

The  author  is  indebted  to  Mr.  E.  S.  Moffat, 


FOREWORD 

who  has  novelized  the  play  directly  from  its 
text,  with  the  exception  of  that  portion  which 
appeared  as  a  short  story  under  the  same  title 
several  years  ago,  treating  of  Virgie  in  the 
overseer's  cabin,  and  the  endorsing  of  her  pass 
by  Lieutenant-Colonel  Morrison. 

EDWARD  PEPLE. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


THE   LITTLEST  REBEL 

CHAPTER  I 

Tara-tara! 

From  far  in  the  distance  a  faint  fanfare  of 
trumpets,  borne  on  brazen  wings  through  the 
clamor  of  the  city's  streets. 

Tara-tara! 

"What's  that— a  bugle?" 

R-r-r-r-rum-dum! 

"And  that— a  drum?" 

Tramp — tramp — tramp — the  rolling  thun- 
der of  ten  thousand  feet. 

"Can  it  really  be?  Has  the  die  been  cast? 
Has  the  great  day  come  at  last?" 

"Yes,  yes,  Mother!     Can't  you  hear  them?" 

Hear  them?  Can  the  mother's  anguished 
ears  hear  anything  else  but  that  terrible,  roll- 
ing drum,  those  dreadful  feet?  And  can  those 
soft  old  lips  so  suddenly  grown  pale  do  less 
than  cry  out  her  woman's  protest  against  the 
coming  sacrifice? 


2  THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

Yes!  For  her  proud  head  rises  and  she 
dashes  away  the  starting  tears.  Caught  in 
the  dreadful  net  of  circumstance,  it  is  not  for 
her  to  be  less  brave  than  the  bravest.  Other 
women  will  give  of  their  earthly  possessions — 
she,  then,  will  give  her  first  and  best  of 
all. 

"Run,  children,  run!  Daughters — throw 
wide  your  windows!  Crowd  your  balconies! 
Rush  out  into  the  street!  Shout!  Laugh! 
Wave  your  handkerchief !  Now,  everybody — 
Hip — hip — hurrah!  Here  come  the  soldiers! 
War  has  been  declared!" 

From  curb  to  curb  the  marching  lines  fill  up 
the  street — a  sea  of  men  whose  flashing  bayo- 
nets glisten  and  glitter  in  the  morning'  light. 
With  steady  step  and  even  rank,  with  thrill  of 
brass  lunged  band  and  screaming  fife  the  regi- 
ments sweep  by — in  front,  the  officers  on  their 
dancing  steeds — behind  them,  line  after  line  of 
youthful  faces,  chins  in,  chests  out,  the  light  of 
victory  already  shining  in  their  eyes. 

"There's  Dick!  There's  John!  There's 
Harry!  Quick,  Mother,  quick! — and  wave 
your  hand!  First  rank,  fourth  man.  There! 


See  him  laugh  and  nod  his  handsome  head! 
Your  own  brave  Charlie  boy,  your  only  son — 
marching  with  his  regiment  to  war.  Oh! 
Isn't  it  splendid,  Mother!  Isn't  it  splendid 
that  now  we  can  fight  and  win  and  prove  for- 
ever that  our  cause  is  just!" 

In  just  this  way  the  Nation's  sons  went 
forth  to  fight  in  those  first  brave  days  of  '61. 
Just  so  they  marched  out,  defiant,  from  South 
and  North  alike — with  bright  pennons  snap- 
ping in  the  breeze  and  bugles  blowing  gayly 
and  never  a  thought  in  any  man's  mind  but 
that  his  side  would  win  and  his  own  life  be 
spared.  For  when  men  boldly  resolve  on  war 
the  voices  of  the  few  who  count  the  cost  are  as 
only  a  murmur  beside  the  rumble  of  the  hosts 
who  do  their  fighting  first  and  their  thinking 
afterwards. 

The  cost!  Aye,  for  there  is  always  a  reck- 
oning to  pay.  Alwaj^s  one  contender  driven 
to  the  wall,  his  cities  turned  to  ashes,  his  lands 
laid  waste.  Always  one  depleted  side  which 
musters  callow  youth  and  tottering  gray- 
beard  in  one  last  desperate  stand  in  the  sight 
of  their  blackened  homes  and  outraged  fields 


4  THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

and  fights  on  through  ever  darkening  days 
until  the  inevitable  end  is  come. 

And  the  end  of  the  Confederacy  was  now 
almost  in  sight.  Three  years  of  fighting  and 
the  Seceding  States  had  been  cut  in  twain, 
their  armies  widely  separated  by  the  Union 
hosts.  Advancing  and  retreating  but  always 
fighting,  month  after  month,  year  after  year 
the  men  in  gray  had  come  at  last  to  the  dark- 
est, bitterest  period  of  it  all — when  the  weak- 
ened South  was  slowly  breaking  under  the 
weight  of  her  brother  foes — when  the  two 
greatest  of  the  armies  battled  on  Virginia  soil 
— battled  and  passed  to  their  final  muster  roll. 

Of  little  heed  to  tell  of  the  privations  which 
the  jpivotal  state  of  the  Confederacy  went 
through.  If  it  were  true  that  Virginia  had 
been  simply  one  vast  arsenal  where  every  in- 
habitant had  unfailingly  done  his  part  in  mak- 
ing war,  it  was  also  true  that  she  had  furnished 
many  of  its  greatest  battlefields — and  at  what 
a  frightful  cost. 

Everywhere  were  the  cruel  signs  of  destruc- 
tion and  want — in  scanty  larder,  patched,  re- 
furbished clothing,  servantless  homes — in  dis- 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL  5 

mantled  outhouses,  broken  fences  and  neg- 
lected, brier-choked  fields.  Even  the  staples 
of  life  were  fast  diminishing  for  every  man 
who  could  shoulder  a  gun  had  gone  to  fight 
with  Lee  and  few  animals  were  left  and  fewer 
slaves. 

Yet,  for  all  the  dismal  outlook,  Winter  had 
passed  without  actual  disaster  to  the  Confed- 
erate arms  and  now  that  Spring  had  come  the 
plantation  home  of  the  Herbert  Carys,  twenty 
miles  below  Richmond,  had  never  had  a  fairer 
setting.  White-pillared  and  stately  the  old 
Colonial  mansion  stood  on  one  of  the  low, 
emerald  hills  which  roll  back  lazily  from  the 
peaceful  James.  It  was  true  that  the  flower 
beds  had  been  trampled  down  to  ruin  by  alien 
horse  and  heel,  but  the  scent  of  the  honey- 
suckle clinging  to  those  shining  pillars  only 
seemed  the  sweeter  for  the  loss,  and  whatever 
else  the  forager  might  take,  he  could  not  rob 
them  of  their  gracious  vista  of  hills  and  shim- 
mering river. 

For  good  reason  the  plantation  was  very 
silent  on  this  warm  spring  morning.  Where 
only  a  year  before  dozens  of  soft  eyed  Jer- 


6  THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

seys  had  ranged  through  the  pastures  and 
wood  lots  there  was  now  no  sound  of  tin- 
kling bells — one  after  another  the  fine,  blooded 
stock  had  been  requisitioned  by  a  sad  faced 
quartermaster  of  the  Army  of  Northern  Vir- 
ginia. And  one  by  one  the  fat  porkers  who 
had  muzzled  greedily  among  the  ears  from  the 
Gary  bins  and  who  ought  to  have  gone  into  the 
smoke  house  had  departed,  squealing,  to  fur- 
nish bone  and  sinew  with  which  to  repel  the 
invader.  Saddest  of  all,  the  chicken  coops 
down  by  the  deserted  negro  quarters  were 
quite  as  empty  as  the  once  teeming  cabins 
themselves.  Poverty,  grim  and  relentless,  had 
caught  the  Carys  in  its  iron  hand  and  behind 
Poverty  stood  its  far  more  frightening  shadow 
— Starvation. 

All  this  and  more  was  in  old  Uncle  Billy's 
gray,  kinky  head  as  he  emerged  from  the 
woods  below  the  house  and  came  slowly  up  the 
driveway  and  he  sat  down  on  a  bench  under 
a  tree  to  ruminate  over  the  situation  and  in- 
spect the  feathered  prize  which  he  had  lately 
acquired  by  certain,  devious  means  known  only 
to  Uncle  Billy.  Wiping  his  forehead  with  his 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL  7 

ragged  sleeve  and  holding  the  bird  up  by  its 
tied  feet  he  regarded  it  with  the  eye  of  an 
expert,  and  the  fatigue  of  one  who  has  been 
sorely  put  to  it  in  order  to  accomplish  his  pur- 
pose. 

"It  'pears  to  me,"  said  Uncle  Billy,  "dat 
des'  when  you  needs  'em  the  mostest  the  chick- 
ens goes  to  roosting  higher  'n'  higher. 
Rooster — I  wonder  who  you  b'longs  to. 
Um-ttm/"  he  murmured  as  he  thoughtfully 
sounded  the  rooster's  well  developed  chest 
through  the  feathers.  "From  de  feelin'  of 
you,  my  son,  I  'spec'  you  was  raise'  by  one  er 
de  ol'es'  fam'lies  what  is!" 

But  Uncle  Billy  knew  the  fortunes  of  the 
Gary  family  far  too  well  to  mourn  over  the 
probable  toughness  of  his  booty,  and  as  he  rose 
up  from  the  seat  and  meandered  toward  the 
kitchen,  his  old,  wrinkled  face  broke  into  a 
broad  smile  of  satisfaction  over  the  surprise 
he  had  in  store.  "Well — after  I  done  parbile 
you,  I  reckon  Miss  Hallie  be  mighty  glad  to 
see  you.  Yas,  sell!" 

But  as  Uncle  Billy  walked  slowly  along  be- 
side the  hedge  which  shielded  the  house  on  one 


8  THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

side  he  heard  a  sound  which  made  him  halt. 
A  young  negro,  coming  from  the  rear,  had 
dodged  behind  the  hedge  and  was  trying  to 
keep  out  of  his  sight. 

"Hi,  dar!  You,  Jeems  Henry!"  shouted 
Uncle  Billy,  instantly  suspicious  of  such  ma- 
neuvers. "Comeheh!  Hear  me/  Comehehl" 

At  this  sudden  command  a  young  mulatto, 
hesitating,  came  through  a  break  in  the  hedge 
and  stood  looking  at  him,  sullen  and  silent. 
In  his  hands  he  carried  a  small  bundle  done 
up  in  a  colored  handkerchief  and  on  this  guilty 
piece  of  baggage  Uncle  Billy's  eye  immedi- 
ately fastened  with  an  angry  frown. 

"Whar  you  gwine?"  demanded  Uncle  Billy, 
with  an  accusing  finger  trembling  at  the 
bundle. 

The  younger  man  made  no  reply. 

"Hear  me?"  the  elder  demanded  again  in 
rising  tones  of  severity.  "Ain't  you  got  no 
tongue  in  yo'  haid?  Whar  you  gwine?" 

Shifting  from  one  foot  to  the  other  the 
younger  man  finally  broke  away  from  Uncle 
Bilty's  eye  and  tried  to  pass  him  by. 

"Den  I'll  tell  you  whar  you  gwine,"  shouted 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL  9 

Uncle  Billy,  furious  at  last.  "You's  runnin' 
'way  to  de  Yankees,  dat's  whar  you  gwine." 

At  this  too  truthful  thrust  Jeems  Henry 
saw  that  further  deceit  would  be  futile  and 
he  faced  Uncle  Billy  with  sullen  resentment. 

"An'  sposin'  I  is — wat  den?" 

"Den  you's  a  thief,"  retorted  Uncle  Billy 
with  dismayingly  quick  wit.  "Dat's  what  you 
is — a  thief/1 

"I  am'  no  thief,"  Jeems  Henry  refuted 
stubbornly,  "I  ain'  stole  nothin'." 

"You  is  too,"  and  Uncle  Billy's  forefinger 
began  to  shake  in  the  other's  face.  "You's 
stealin'  a  nigger!" 

"What  dat?"  and  Jeems  Henry's  eyes 
opened  wide  with  amazement.  "What  you 
talkin'  'bout?" 

"Talkin'  'bout  you''  replied  Uncle  Billy, 
sharper  than  ever.  "Dey  say  a  nigger's  wuth 
a  thousan'  dollars.  'Cose  you  ain't  wuth  dat 
much,"  he  said  with  utter  disgust.  "I  put  you 
down  at  a  dollar  and  a  quarter.  But  dat  ain't 
de  p'int,"  and  he  steadily  advanced  on  the  other 
till  their  faces  were  only  a  few  inches  apart. 
"It's  dis.  You,  Jeems  Henry,  belongs  to 


10         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

Mars'  Herbert  Gary  an'  Miss  Hallie;  an'  when 
you  runs  'way  you's  stealin'.     Yous  stealin' 

yo'seft" 

"H'm!"  sniffed  Jeems  Henry,  now  that  the 
nature  and  extent  of  his  crime  were  fully  un- 
derstood. x  "Ef  I  ain'  wuth  but  a  dollar  an'  a 
quarter,  I  suttenly  ain'  stealin'  much!" 

At  this  smart  reply  Uncle  Billy's  disgust 
overcame  him  completely  and  he  tossed  the 
rooster  on  the  ground  and  clutched  Jeems 
Henry  by  the  arm. 

"You  mighty  right,  you  ain't!"  he  shouted. 
"An*  ef  I  was  fo'  years  younger  I'd  take  it 
outer  yo'  hide  with  a  carriage  whip.  HoF  on 
dar,"  as  Jeems  Henry  eluded  his  grasp  and 
began  to  move  away.  "Which  way  you 
gwine?  You  hear  me?  Now  den!" 

"I  gwine  up  de  river,"  replied  Jeems  Henry, 
badgered  at  last  into  revealing  his  plan. 
Then,  after  a  cautious  look  around, — "to 
Chickahominy  Swamp,"  he  added  in  lower 
tones. 

Uncle  Billy  cocked  his  ears.  Here  was 
news  indeed. 

"Chickahominy,  huh!     So  de  Yankees  is  up 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         11 

dar,"  is  dey?  An'  what  you  think  you  gwine 
to  do  when  you  git  to  'em?" 

"Wuck  'roun  de  camp,"  replied  Jeems 
Henry  with  some  vagueness. 

"Doin'  what?"  was  the  relentless  query. 

"Blackin'  de  gent'men's  boots — an' — an' 
gittin'  paid  fer  it,"  Jeems  Henry  stammered 
in  reply.  "It's  better'n  being  a  slave,  Unc* 
Billy,"  he  added  as  he  saw  the  sneer  of  con- 
tempt on  the  faithful  old  man's  face.  "An* 
ef  you  wan'  sech  a  crazy  ol'  fool,  you'd  come 
along  wid  me,  too." 

At  this  combination  of  temptation  and  in- 
sult Uncle  Billy's  eyes  narrowed  with  con- 
tempt and  loathing.  "Me?"  he  said,  and  a 
rigid  arm  pointed  back  at  the  house  which  had 
been  for  years  his  source  of  shelter  and  com- 
fort. "Me  leave  Miss  Hallie  now?  Right 
when  she  ain'  got  nothing  Look  heah,  nigger ; 
dog-gone  yo'  skin,  I  got  a  great  min'  for  to 
mash  yo'  mouf.  Yas,  I  is  a  slave.  I  b'longs 
to  Mars  Gary — an'  I  b'longed  to  his  pa  befo' 
him.  Dey  feed  me  and  gimme  de  bes'  dey 
got.  Dey  take  care  of  me  when  I'm  sick — an' 
dey  take  care  of  me  when  I'm  well — an  / 


1*         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

gwine  to  stay  right  here.  But  you?  You  jes1 
go  on  wid  de  Yankees,  an'  black  der  boots. 
Dey'll  free  you,"  and  Uncle  Billy's  voice  rose 
in  prophetic  tones — "an  you'll  keep  on  blackin' 
boots!  Go  'long  now,,  you  low-down,  dollar- 
an-a-quarter  nigger!"  as  Jeems  Henry 
wrenched  away.  "Go  long  wid  yo'  Yankee 
niarsters — and  git  yo'  freedom  an'  a  blackin' 
brush." 

So  engrossed  were  both  the  actors  in  this 
drama  that  they  failed  to  hear  the  sound  of 
footsteps  on  the  veranda,  and  it  was  so  that 
the  mistress  of  the  manor  found  the  would-be 
runaway  and  the  old  slave,  glaring  into  each 
other's  eyes  and  insulting  one  another  vol- 
ubly. 

Mrs.  Gary,  with  her  workbasket  on  her  arm, 
paused  at  the  top  of  the  steps  and  regarded 
the  angry  pair  with  wellbred  surprise.  She 
was  a  true  daughter  of  the  old  time  South,  low 
I  voiced  and  gentle  and  quiet  eyed.  Like  all 
those  self-sacrificing  women  who  willingly 
drank  their  war  time  poverty  down  to  its  bitter 
dregs,  her  light,  summer  dress  was  of  the  cheap- 
est material,  yet  her  deft  fingers  had  fash- 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         18 

ioned  it  with  art,  from  slightly  opened  neck 
where  an  old-fashioned  brooch  lay  against  her 
soft  throat  down  to  the  dainty,  spotless 
flounces  lying  above  her  petticoat  of  crinoline. 
And  every  gesture  and  graceful  movement, 
even  in  this  moment  of  shocked  surprise,  was 
that  of  one  so  secure  in  the  possession  of  breed- 
ing and  tranquil  authority  as  to  be  exquisite  in 
its  simplicity.  Time  might  work  its  will  upon 
the  fortunes  of  the  Carys,  but  nothing  could 
alter  the  sweet  self-possession  of  this  proud 
but  gentle  mother. 

At  the  sound  of  Uncle  Billy's  angry  tones 
Mrs.  Gary  raised  her  voice. 

"Why,  Uncle  Billy,"  she  queried,  with 
pained  amazement.  "What  is  going  on  here? 
What  is  the  matter?" 

"It's  Jeems  Henry;  dat's  what's  de  mat- 
ter," said  Uncle  Billy,  in  defense  of  his 
agitation.  "He's  runnin'  'way  to  de  Yan- 
kees." 

Mrs.  Gary  stopped  short  for  a  moment  and 
then  came  slowly  down  the  steps. 

"Oh,  James,"  she  said,  unbelievingly.  "Is 
this  really  true?" 


14         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

Jeems  Henry  hung  his  head  and  dug  at  the 
gravel  with  his  toe. 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Gary,  and  the  word 
held  a  world  of  painful  thought — of  self-ac- 
cusation, of  hopeless  regret,  of  sorrow  for  one 
who  could  be  so  foolishly  misguided.  "I'm 
sorry  not  only  for  ourselves  but  for  you.  You 
know,  I  promised  Mammy  before  she  died  that 
I  would  look  after  you — always." 

Still  Jeems  Henry  made  no  answer  and  old 
Uncle  Billy  saw  fit  to  make  a  disclosure. 

"He's  gwine  up  to  Chickahominy."  Then 
to  Jeems  Henry  he  added  something  in  low 
tones  which  made  the  young  negro's  eyes  roll 
wildly  with  fear.  "Dey  tells  me  dat  der's 
hants  and  ghoses  over  dar.  I  hopes  dey'll  git 
you." 

"Stop  that !"  commanded  Mrs.  Gary.  "You 
know  very  well,  Uncle  Billy,  there  are  no  such 
things  as  ghosts." 

"Nor'm  I  don't,  Miss  Hallie,"  responded 
Uncle  Billy,  sticking  tenaciously  to  his  point, 
because  he  could  plainly  see  Jeems  Henry 
wavering.  'Twas  jes  las'  night  I  hear  one — 
moanin'  'roun  de  smoke  house.  An*  ef  I  ain't 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         15 

mighty  fur  wrong,  she  was  smellin'  arfter 
Jeems  Henry." 

At  this  wild  fabrication,  the  reason  for 
which  she  nevertheless  appreciated,  Mrs.  Gary 
had  hard  work  to  hold  back  a  smile,  although 
she  promptly  reassured  the  terrified  Jeems 
Henry. 

"There  now — there — that  will  do.  Nothing 
of  that  kind  will  trouble  you,  James ;  you  may 
take  my  word  for  it.  If  you  are  quite  deter- 
mined to  go  I  shall  not  try  to  keep  you.  But 
what  have  you  in  that  bundle?" 

"Hi!  Hi!  Dat's  de  way  to  talk!"  inter- 
rupted Uncle  Billy,  excitedly  foreseeing 
means  to  prevent  Jeems  Henry's  departure. 
"What  you  got  in  yo'  bundle?" 

Jeems  Henry  lifted  his  anguished  eyes  and 
gazed  truthfully  at  his  mistress. 

"I  ain't  got  nothin' — what  don't  b'long  to 
me,  Miss  Hallie." 

"I  don't  mean  that,"  Mrs.  Gary  responded 
kindly.  "But  you  have  a  long  tramp  before 
you.  Have  you  anything  to  eat?" 

"Nor'm,  I  ain't,"  and  Jeems  Henry  seemed 
disturbed. 


16         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"Then  you'd  better  come  around  to  the 
kitchen.  We'll  see  what  we  can  find." 

At  this  unheard-of  generosity,  Uncle  Billy's 
eyes  opened  widely  and  he  exploded  in  remon- 
strance. 

"Now,  hoi'  on  dar,  Miss  Hallie!  Hoi'  on. 
You  ain'  got  none  too  much  fo'  yo'se'f,  d'out 
stuffin'  dis  yere  six-bit  rat  hole  wid  waffles  an' 
milasses." 

"William!"  commanded  his  mistress. 

"  Yas'm,"  was  the  meek  response,  and  Uncle 
Billy  subsided  into  silence. 

With  a  sigh,  Mrs.  Gary  turned  away  toward 
the  house.  "Well,  James,  are  you  coming?" 

But  Jeems  Henry,  completely  abashed  be- 
fore this  miracle  of  kindness  which  he  did  not 
deserve,  decided  that  it  was  time  for  him  to  be 
a  man. 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Hallie,"  he  gulped,  "but 
f 'urn  now  on  I  reckon  I  gwine  take  keer  of 
myse'f." 

Mrs.  Cary,  pausing  on  the  bottom  step, 
raised  her  eyes  heavenward  in  a  short  prayer 
that  children  such  as  these  might  somehow  be 
protected  from  themselves. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         If 

"Well,  James,"  she  said,  when  she  saw  there 
was  nothing  more  to  be  done.  "I  hope  you'll 
be  happy  and  contented.  If  you  are  not — 
come  back  to  us.  Perhaps,  when  the  war  is 
over,  you'll  find  things  a  little  more — comfort- 
able. Good-by,  James,"  and  she  held  out  her 
hand. 

But  this  last  touch  of  gentleness  was  too 
much  for  the  young  mulatto.  Although  he 
made  an  obedient  step  forward,  his  feelings 
overcame  him  and  with  an  audible  snuffle  and 
liis  hand  over  his  eyes  he  retreated — then 
turned  his  back  and  plunged  through  the 
hedge. 

Mrs.  Gary  sank  down  on  the  step  and  looked 
as  if  she,  too,  would  like  to  cry. 

Manfully,  Uncle  Billy  came  to  her  rescue. 
"Now  don't  you  care,  Miss  Hallie.  He  wan* 
no  'count  for  plowin'  no  how." 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that,  Uncle  Billy,"  Mrs.  Gary 
replied  with  a  low  cry  of  regret.  "It  isn't  the 
actual  loss  of  help,  tho'  we  need  it,  goodness 
knows.  But  it  makes  me  sad  to  see  them  leav- 
ing, one  by  one.  They  are  such  children 
and  so  helpless — without  a  master  hand." 


18         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"Yas'm,"  agreed  Uncle  Billy  readily.  "An* 
de  marster's  ban'  ought  to  have  a  hick'ry  stick 
in  it  fer  dat  nigger.  Yas,  bless  Gawd.  But 
you  got  me,  Miss  Hallie,"  he  announced 
proudly.  fcl  ain't  runned  away  to  de  blue- 
bellies  yet." 

"No,  you  dear  old  thing,"  Mrs.  Gary  cried 
with  laughing  relief,  and  her  hand  rested  on 
his  shoulder  in  a  gentle  caress.  "I'd  as  soon 
think  of  the  skies  falling.  It  is  just  such  faith- 
ful friends  as  you  who  help  me  to  fight  the 
best." 

"Um?"  said  Uncle  Billy  promptly,  not  quite 
understanding. 

"I  mean  a  woman's  battles,  Uncle  Billy — 
the  'waiting  battles — that  we  fight  alone." 
Mrs.  Gary  rose  to  her  feet  and  turned  sadly 
away. 

"Yas'm,"  agreed  XJncle  Billy.  "I  dunno 
what  yo'  talkin'  'bout,  but  I  spec'  you's  right. 
/Yas'm." 

"Dear  Uncle  Billy,"  repeated  Mrs.  Gary, 
while  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "The  most 
truthful — the  most  honest — " 

Mrs.  Gary  stopped  and  looked  sharply  at 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         19 

something  lying  on  the  ground  beside  the 
bench.  Then  she  turned  and  swept  the  old 
man  with  an  accusing  glance  which  made  him 
quail. 

f<  William!"  she  said,  in  awful  tones. 

"Yas'm,"  replied  Uncle  Billy,  feverishly. 

"What's  that?" 

Uncle  Billy  immediately  became  the  very 
picture  of  innocence  and  ignorance.  He 
looked  everywhere  but  at  the  helpless  rooster. 

"What's  what?'*  he  asked.  "Aw,  dat? 
Why — why,  dat  ain'  nothin'  'tall,  Miss  Hallie. 
Dat's — dat's  des  a  rooster.  Yas'm." 

Mrs.  Gary  came  down  from  the  steps  and 
looked  carefully  at  the  unfamiliar  bird.  No 
fear  that  she  would  not  recognize  it  if  it  were 
hers.  "Whose  is  he?"  she  asked. 

"You — you  mean  who  he  b'longs  to?"  que- 
ried Uncle  Billy,  fencing  for  time  in  which  to 
prepare  a  quasi-truthful  reply.  "He — he 
don'  b'long  to  nobody.  He's  his  own  rooster." 

"William!"  commanded  Mrs.  Gary,  se- 
verely. "Look  at  me.  Where  did  you  get 
him?" 

Here  was   a  situation  which  Uncle  Billy 


20         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

knew  must  be  handled  promptly,  and  he  picked 
up  the  rooster  and  made  an  attempt  to  escape. 
"Down  on  de  low  grouns — dis  mornin'.  Dat's 
right,"  he  said,  as  he  saw  dawning  unbelief  in 
his  mistress'  face.  "Now  you  have  to  skuse 
me,  Miss  Hallie.  I  got  my  wuck  to  do.'* 

"One  moment,  William,"  interposed  Mrs. 
Gary,  completely  unconvinced.  "You  are 
sure  he  was  on  the  low  grounds?" 

"Cose  I  is!"  asseverated  Uncle  Billy,  mean- 
while backing  farther  away. 

"What  was  he  doing  there?" 

Uncle  Billy  stammered. 

"He — he — he,  he  was  trespassin',  dat's  what 
he  was  doin' — des  natcherly  trespassin'." 

At  this  marvel  of  testimony,  Mrs.  Gary's 
lips  relaxed  in  a  smile  and  she  warned  him 
with  an  upraised  finger. 

"Be  careful,  Uncle  Billy!    Be  careful." 

"Yas,  mar'm"  chuckled  the  old  man.  "I 
had  to  be.  I  never  would  a-got  him!  Oh, 
I's  tellin'  de  trufe,  Miss  Hallie.  Dis'  here  ol' 
sinner  tooken  flewed  off  a  boat  what  was 
comin'  up  de  river.  Yas'm.  And  he  sure 
was  old  enough  to  know  better." 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         21 

"And  you  saw  him  fly  off  the  boat?" 

"Oh,  yas'm.  I  seed  him.  I  seed  him,"  and 
Uncle  Billy  floundered  for  a  moment,  caught 
in  his  own  trap.  "Dat  is,  not  wid  my  own 
eyes.  But  I  see  him  settin*  in  de  woods, 
lookin'  dat  lonesome  and  losted  like,  I  felt 
real  sorry  for  him.  Yas'm,"  and  to  prove  his 
deep  sympathy  for  the  unfortunate  bird  he 
stroked  its  breast  lovingly. 

Mrs.  Gary  turned  away  to  hide  her  laugh- 
ter. "How  did  you  catch  him?" 

"How?"  repeated  Uncle  Billy,  while  his  an- 
cient mind  worked  with  unusual  rapidity. 
"I  got  down  on  all  fo's  in  the  thick  weeds,  an' 
cluk  like  a  hen.  An'  den  ol'  Mr.  Rooster,  he 
came  long  over  to  see  ef  I  done  laid  an  aig — 
an'  I  des  reach  right  out  an'  take  him  home  to 
de  Lawd." 

"Oh,  Uncle  Billy,"  his  mistress  laughed. 
"I'm  afraid  you're  incorrigible.  It's  a  dread- 
ful thing  to  doubt  one's  very  dinner.  Isn't 
it?" 

"Yas'm.  An'  I  was  des  'bout  to  say  ef  you 
an'  Miss  Virgie  kin  worry  down  de  white 
meat,  maybe  den  dis  here  bird  '11  kinder  git 


22         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

eben  wid  me  when  I  tackle  his  drum  sticks. 
Yas'm,"  and  with  a  final  chuckle  of  joy  over 
his  success  the  old  man  hobbled  quickly  away 
in  the  direction  of  the  kitchen. 

Mrs.  Gary,  still  smiling,  picked  up  her  work 
basket  and  slowly  crossed  the  grass  to  a  shady 
bench  underneath  the  trees.  Now  that  Uncle 
Billy  had  succeeded  in  making  his  escape,  she 
must  go  back  to  her  task  of  making  a  dress 
for  Virgie.  But  the  prospect  of  making  her 
daughter  something  wearable  out  of  the  odds 
and  ends  of  nothing  was  not  a  happy  one.  In 
fact,  she  was  still  poking  through  her  basket 
and  frowning  thoughtfully  when  a  childish 
voice  came  to  her  ears. 

"Yes,  Virgie!  Here  I  am.  Out  under 
the  trees." 

Immediately  came  a  sound  of  tumultuous 
feet  and  Miss  Virginia  Houston  Gary  burst 
upon  the  scene.  She  was  a  tot  of  seven  with 
sun  touched  hair  and  great  dark  eyes  whose 
witchery  made  her  a  piquant  little  fairy.  In 
spite  of  her  mother's  despair  over  her  clothes 
Virgie  was  dressed,  or  at  least  had  been 
dressed  at  breakfast  time,  in  a  clean  white 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         23 

frock,  low  shoes  and  white  stockings,  although 
all  now  showed  signs  of  strenuous  usage. 
Clutched  to  her  breast  as  she  ran  up  to  her 
mother's  side  was  "Susan  Jemima,"  her  one 
beloved  possession  and  her  doll.  Behind 
Virgie  came  Sally  Ann,  her  playmate,  a  slim, 
barefooted  mulatto  girl  whose  faded,  gingham 
dress  hung  partly  in  tatters,  halfway  between 
her  knees  and  ankles.  In  one  of  Sally  Ann's 
hands,  carried  like  a  sword,  was  a  pointed 
stick ;  in  the  other,  a  long  piece  of  blue  wood- 
moss  from  which  dangled  a  bit  of  string. 

"Oh,  Mother,"  cried  the  small  daughter  of 
the  Carys,  as  she  came  up  flushed  and  excited, 
"what  do  you  reckon  Sally  Ann  and  me 
have  been  playing  out  in  the  woods!" 

"What,  dear!"  and  Mrs.  Gary's  gentle  hand 
went  up  to  lift  the  hair  back  from  her  daugh- 
ter's dampened  forehead. 

"Blue  Beard!"  cried  Virgie,  with  rounded 
eyes. 

"Blue  Beard!"  echoed  her  mother  in  aston- 
ishment at  this  childish  freak  of  amusement. 
"Not  really — on  this  hot  day." 

"Um,  hum,"  nodded  Virgie  emphatically. 


24         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"You  know  he — he — he  was  the  terriblest  old 
man  that — that  ever  was.  An*  he  had  so 
many  wifses  that — " 

"Say  'wives/  my  darling.     Wives." 

Sally  Ann  laughed  and  Virgie  frowned. 

"Well,  I  thought  it  was  that,  but  Sally 
Ann's  older'n  me  and  she  said  'wifses.' ' 

"Huh,"  grunted  Sally  Ann.  "Don'  make 
no  differ'nce  what  you  call  'em,  des  so  he  had 
'em.  Gor'n  tell  her." 

"Well,  you  know,  Mother,  Blue  Beard  had 
such  a  bad  habit  of  killin'  his  wives  that — 
that  some  of  the  ladies  got  so  they — they  al- 
most didn't  like  to  marry  him!" 

"Gracious,  what  a  state  of  affairs,"  cried 
Mrs.  Gary,  in  well  feigned  amazement  at  the 
timidity  of  the  various  Mrs.  Blue  Beards. 
"And  then—" 

"Well,  the  last  time  he  got  married  to — to 
another  one — her  name  was  Mrs.  Fatima. 
An' — an'  I've  been  play  in'  Jier" 

"And  who  played  Blue  Beard?" 

"Sally  Ann — an'  she's  just  fine.  Come 
here,  Sally  Ann,  an'  let's  show  her.  Kneel 
down." 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL        25 

Clutching  the  piece  of  moss  from  Sally 
Ann,  Virgie  ran  behind  the  girl  and  put  her 
chubby  arms  around  her  neck.  "This  is  his 
blue  beard,  Mother.  Hold  still,  Sally  Ann — • 
My  lord,  I  mean — till  I  get  it  tied  in  the  right 
place." 

"Be  keerful,  Miss  Virgie,"  advised  the  col- 
ored girl.  "You's  a-ticklin'  my  nose.  I'se 
gwine  to  sneeze  ef  yo'  don't,  and  jes  blow 
my  beard  all  away." 

"Oh,  don't  be  such  a  baby,"  remonstrated 
the  earnest  Miss  Virginia,  with  a  correcting 
slap.  "S'pose  you  were  a  man  an'  had  to  wear 
one  all  the  time.  Now!  Stand  up!  Look, 
Mother!" 

"I'm  afraid  of  him  already.     He's  so  fero- 


cious. 
« 


Isn't  he?  Oh,  won't  you  play  with  us, 
Mother?  I'll— I'll  let  you  be  Mrs.  Fa- 
tima."  And  then,  as  her  mother's  face 
•showed  signs  of  doubt  as  to  her  histrionic 
ability,  "If  you  were  my  little  girl,  I'd  do 
it  in  a  minute." 

"Very  well,  but  remember — just  for  a  little 
— because  someone  must  make  clothes — and  it 


26         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

takes  so  long  to  make  them  out  of  noth- 
ing." 

"Oh,  goody,  goody,"  and  Virgie's  dancing 
feet  seemed  hardly  to  touch  the  ground. 
"Come  on,  Sally  Ann.  We  can  play  it  with 
mamma's  keys." 

"Wait  dar!  Whar'd  I  put  my  s'wode?" 
And  Sally  Ann  snatched  up  her  dangerous 
weapon  and  thrust  it  into  a  rope  around  her 
waist.  "Now  I'se  ready  fo'  killin'  folks." 

"But  we  have  to  begin  where  Blue  Beard 
goes  away  on  a  journey,"  Virgie  cried. 
"Susan  Jemima,  you  sit  there  on  the  bench 
and  clap  your  hands.  Get  up,  Mamma.  Go 
ahead,  Sally  Ann!" 

"Ooman,"  said  Sally  Ann,  strutting  up  to 
her  mistress  and  frowning  terribly.  "I'se 
gwine  away  fer  a  night  an'  a  day.  Dese  yere 
is  de  keys  to  de  castle." 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  the  meek  response. 

Sally  Ann  Blue  Beard  pointed  to  an  im- 
aginary door  halfway  between  them  and  where 
Virgie  sat  on  the  steps,  wriggling  with  de- 
light. "You  kin  look  in  ev'ry  room  in  de  house 
— castle,  I  means — 'cep  in  des  dat  one. 


27 

Om'estan  me?  Des  dat  one!  But  ef  yo' 
looks  in  dor, — Gawd  he'p  you.  I  gwine  cut 
yo'  haid  off,"  and  the  fearful  sword  whizzed 
threateningly  through  the  air.  "Fyarwell — 
fyarwell." 

"Farewell,  my  lord,"  said  Mrs.  Gary,  and 
then  in  a  whisper,  as  Blue  Beard  stalked  away 
to  hide  behind  a  tree.  "What  do  we  do  now? 
Quick!" 

"Now  I  come  in,"  cried  Virgie.  "I'm 
'Sister  Anne'  that  looks  for  the  horseman  in 
the  cloud  of  dust."  And  jumping  up,  the 
child  managed  to  change  the  tones  of  her  voice 
in  a  surprising  manner. 

"Good  morning,  fair  sister.  Blue  Beard 
has  gone  away,  and  now  we  can  look  in  his 
secret  room." 

"No,  Sister  Anne,  No!  I  dare  not,"  and 
Mrs.  Fatima  shrank  back  full  of  fear  from  the 
imaginary  door.  "Urge  me  no  more.  I  am 
afraid." 

"But,  Mother,"  cried  Virgie,  with  a  little 
squeal  of  disappointment.  "You  have  to. 
It's  part  of  the  play,"  and  she  led  her  up  to 
the  invisible  door. 


28         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"Now  look  in — and  when  you  look — drop 
the  keys — an'  we'll  both  scream." 

Slowly  the  door  seemed  to  open  and,  after 
an  instant's  terrified  silence,  both  actresses 
screamed  with  complete  success.  Whereupon 
Mrs.  Fatima  dropped  to  her  knees  and  Sister 
Anne  hugged  her  tight. 

"It's  blood.  It's  the  blood  of  his  seven 
wives.  O-o-o-e-e-e!" 

A  great  roar  sounded  in  their  ears. 

"Mercy!  What's  that,"  cried  the  terrified 
Mrs.  Fatima. 

"It's  Blue  Beard.  He's  coming  back," 
whereupon  Virgie  immediately  left  Mrs.  Fa- 
tima to  face  her  fate  alone. 

Having  spent  a  night  and  a  day  behind  the 
tree,  Blue  Beard  now  rushed  upon  the  castle 
and  roared  for  his  wife. 

"Greeting,  my  lord,"  said  the  trembling 
Mrs.  Fatima  with  a  low  curtsey,  "I  hope 
you  have  enjoyed  your  journey." 

"Ooman,"  demanded  Blue  Beard  severely. 
"What  make  you  look  so  pale?" 

"I  know  not,  sweet  sir.  Am  I,  then,  so 
pale?" 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         29 

"You  is !  What  you  be'n  up  to  sence  I  be'n 
away?  Ha!  What  I  tole  you?  Look  at 
de  blood  on  dat  keyl  False  'ooman,  you  done 
deceib'  me.  Down  on  yo'  marrow  bones  an' 
prepyar  to  die!" 

"Spare  me,  my  lord.  Spare  me!  I  am 
so—" 

It  was  just  about  this  time  that  old  Uncle 
Billy,  with  a  bridle  in  one  hand  and  a  carriage 
whip  in  the  other  came  slowly  upon  the  scene. 
At  the  sight  of  Sally  Ann  apparently  about 
to  assault  his  mistress,  the  bridle  dropped  from 
his  hand  and  with  a  tight  clutch  on  the  car- 
riage whip  he  covered  the  intervening  space 
at  an  amazing  speed. 

"Hi,  dar!  You  li'l  woolly  haided  imp! 
You  tech  Miss  Hallie  wid  dat  ar  stick  an'  I 
bus'  you  wide  open!" 

"Oh,  stop,  Uncle  Billy!"  cried  Virgie  in  dis- 
may. "We're  only  having  a  play!" 

"Maybe  you  is;  but  I  lay  ef  I  wrop  my  car- 
riage whip  roun'  her  laig,  des  oncet,  she'll  hop 
all  de  way  to  de  river." 

At  this  dismal  prospect,  which  seemed  much 
truer  than  the  play,  Sally  Ann  began  to 


30         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

whimper  loudly.  "Miss  Hallie,  ef  he  stay 
here,  I  ain't  gwine  to  play." 

"Whar  you  git  dem  whiskers  at?"  de- 
manded Uncle  Billy. 

"Shut  up!"  cried  Virgie. 

"I'm  shuttin',"  said  Uncle  Billy,  retreating. 

Thus  reassured  Sally  Ann  continued: 

"I  gwine  down  stairs  to  git  my  dinner. 
When  I  come  back,  I  sho'  gwine  kill  you. 
Fyar  you  well,"  and  Blue  Beard,  making  a 
wide  circle  around  the  carriage  whip,  took 
himself  off  the  scene. 

"Now,  Mother,"  Virgie  announced,  "I 
have  to  watch  at  the  castle  window,"  and  she 
jumped  up  on  the  bench. 

"Sister  Anne;  Sister  Anne,  do  you  see  any- 
body coming?" 

"No  one,  Fatima — nothing  but  a  cloud  of 
dust  made  by  the  wind." 

"Look  again,  Sister  Anne.  Do  you  see 
anybody  coming?" 

"Oh,  Fatirna,  Fatima.  It's  growing 
bigger." 

"Dar  now,"  interposed  .Uncle  Billy.  "She's 
seein'  som'pin." 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         31 

"Sister  Anne!  Sister  Anne.  And  what  do 
you  see?" 

"Dust !  Dust !  I  see  a  horseman  in  a  cloud 
of  dust.  Lookl  Look!  He's  coming  this 
way."  By  this  time  Virgie's  acting  had  taken 
on  so  close  a  resemblance  to  the  real  thing  that 
both  Mrs.  Gary  and  Uncle  Billy  rose  to  their 
feet  in  wonder. 

"He's  jumped  the  fence"  cried  Virgie. 
"He's  cutting  across  our  fields!  He  sees  me! 
He's  waving  his  hat  to  me!"  With  the  last 
words  the  child  suddenly  jumped  down  from 
the  bench  and  ran  through  the  opening  in  the 
hedge,  leaving  her  mother  gazing  after  her  in 
sudden  consternation. 

"Name  er  Gawd,  Miss  Hallie,"  gasped 
Uncle  Billy.  "You  reckon  she  done  brought 
somebody,  sho'  'miff?  Hi!  Hi!  I  hear  sum'- 
pin.  It's  a  horse.  Lan'  er  Glory!  Hits 
him!" 


CHAPTER  II 

(ROUND  the  corner  of  the  hedge  at  a  swift 
trot  came  a  man  in  the  uniform  of  an  officer 
in  the  Confederate  Army, — and  Virgie  was  in 
his  arms. 

Mrs.  Gary  gave  him  one  look  and  threw  out 
her  arms. 

"Herbert!" 

The  man  on  horseback  let  Virgie  slide  down 
and  then  dismounted  like  a  flash,  coming  to 
her  across  the  little  space  of  lawn  with  his 
whole  soul  in  his  eyes.  With  his  dear  wife 
caught  in  his  arms  he  could  do  nothing  but 
kiss  her  and  hold  her  as  if  he  would  never  again 
let  her  go. 

"God!"  he  breathed,  "but  it's  good  to  see 
you  again.  It's  good"  And  so  they  stood 
/for  a  long  moment,  husband  and  wife  united 
after  months  of  separation,  after  dangers  and 
terrors  and  privations  which  had  seemed  as 
if  they  never  would  end. 

Sally  Ann  was  one  of  the  first  to  interrupt, 

33 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         33 

edging  up  at  the  earliest  opportunity  with  her 
beard  in  her  hand.  "How  you  does,  Mars' 
Gary?  How  you  fine  yo'sef,  seh?" 

"Why,  hullo,  Sally  Ann!"  said  Cary,  and 
put  out  his  hand.  "What  on  earth  is  this 
thing?" 

Virgie  ran  to  his  side  and  caught  his  hand 
in  hers.  "We  were  playing  'Blue  Beard,' 
Daddy, — an'  you  came  just  like  the  brother." 

"So  you've  been  Blue  Beard,  have  you, 
Sally  Ann? — then  I  must  have  the  pleasure 
of  cutting  you  into  ribbons."  Herbert  Gary's 
shining  saber  flashed  half  out  of  its  scabbard 
and  then,  laughing,  he  slapped  it  back  with  a 
clank. 

"Sally  Ann,"  he  announced,  "I'm  going  to 
turn  you  into  Sister  Anne  for  a  while.  You 
run  up  to  Miss  Hallie's  room  and  sit  by  the 
window  where  you  can  watch  the  road  and 
woods.  If  you  see  anything — soldiers,  I 
mean — " 

"Oh,  Herbert!"  cried  his  wife  in  anguish. 

"S-s-sh!"  he  whispered.  "Go  along,  Sally 
Ann.  If  you  see  anyone  at  all  report  to  me 
at  once.  Understand?  Off  with  you!" 


34         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

Uncle  Billy  now  came  forward  in  an  effort 
to  make  his  master's  clothes  more  presentable. 

"Heh,  Mars'  Gary,  lemme  brush  you  off, 
seh.  You's  fyar  kivered." 

"Look  out,  you  old  rascal,"  Gary  laughed, 
as  his  wife  backed  away  coughing  before  the 
cloud  of  fine  white  dust  that  rose  under  Uncle 
Billy's  vigorous  hands.  "You're  choking 
your  mistress  to  death.  Never  mind  the  dust. 
I'll  get  it  back  in  ten  minutes." 

Mrs.  Gary  clasped  her  hands  together  at 
her  breast  with  a  look  of  entreaty. 

"Herbert!    Must  you  go  so  soon?" 

Her  husband  looked  back  at  her  with  eyes 
dark  with  regret. 

"Yes,"  he  said  briefly.  "I'm  on  my  way  to 
Richmond.  How  many  horses  are  there  in 
the  stable?" 

"Two — only  two,"  was  the  broken  response, 
as  his  wife  sank  down  disconsolate  on  a  bench. 
"Belle  and  Lightfoot — we  sold  the  others — I 
had  to  do  it." 

"Yes,  I  know,  little  woman.  It  couldn't 
be  helped.  Here,  Billy !  Take  my  horse  and 
get  Belle  out  of  the  stable.  Lead  them  down 


35 

to  the  swamp  and  hide  them  in  the  cedars. 
Then  saddle  Lightfoot — bring  him  here  and 
give  him  some  water  and  a  measure  of  corn. 
Look  sharp,  Billy!  Lively!" 

In  the  face  of  danger  to  his  master  Uncle 
Billy's  response  was  instant.  "Yes,  seh. 
Right  away,  seh,"  and  he  took  Gary's  lathered 
animal  and  made  off  for  the  stables  at  top 
speed. 

Mrs.  Gary  looked  up  at  her  husband  with  a 
great  fear  written  on  her  face. 

"Why,  Herbert  dear.  You — you  don't 
mean  to  say  that  the  Yankees  are  in  the  neigh- 
borhood?" 

Immediately  Gary  was  on  the  bench  beside 
her  with  his  arm  around  her,  while  Virgie 
climbed  up  on  the  other  side. 

"Now,  come,"  he  murmured,  "be  a  brave 
little  woman  and  don't  be  alarmed.  It  may 
be  nothing  after  all.  Only — there  are  several 
foraging  parties — small  ones,  a  few  miles 
down  the  river.  I've  been  dodging  them  all 
morning.  If  they  come  at  all  they  won't 
trouble  either  you  or  Virgie." 

"But  I'm  not  afraid  of  them,  Daddy-man," 


36         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

cried  the  small  daughter,  and  she  doubled  up 
her  fist  ferociously.  "Look  at  that" 

"Aha!  There's  a  brave  little  Rebel,"  her 
father  cried  as  he  swept  her  up  in  a  hearty  hug. 
"You're  not  afraid  of  them, — nor  you  either, 
God  bless  you,"  and  his  lips  rested  for  a  mo- 
ment on  his  wife's  soft  cheek.  "Only,  you  are 
apt  to  be  a  little  too  haughty.  If  they  search 
the  house  for  arms  or  stragglers,  make  no  re- 
sistance. It's  best." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  his  wife  cried  out,  "but 
you,  dear,  you!  Why  are  you  here?  Why 
aren't  you  with  your  company?" 

Gary  looked  away  for  a  moment  across  the 
fields  and  down  the  slope  towards  the  shim- 
mering river.  They  were  very  beautiful — 
he  wondered  why  he  had  not  fully  realized 
all  that  wife  and  child  and  home  meant  to  him 
when  he  volunteered  recently  for  a  certain 
hazardous  duty.  He  knew,  too,  how  quickly 
his  dear  wife  would  know  the  full  extent  of 
the  peril  with  which  he  felt  himself  sur- 
rounded. And  so  his  reply  was  short  and 
seemingly  gruff,  as  many  another  man's  has 
been  under  too  heavy  circumstances. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         87 

"Scouting  duty.  I've  been  on  it  for  the 
past  two  months." 

Mrs.  Gary's  hand  went  to  her  heart. 

"A  scout,  Herbert!  But,  darling,  why? 
It's  so  dangerous — so  horrible — so— 

He  put  up  his  hand,  with  a  forced  smile,  to 
check  her,  and  broke  in  gayly. 

"Ah,  but  think  of  the  fun  in  it.  It's  like 
playing  hide-and-go-seek  with  Virgie." 

But  his  wife  was  not  to  be  put  off  so  lightly 
and  she  put  her  impelling  hands  on  his  arm. 

Gary  changed  his  tone.  His  voice  deep- 
ened. 

"They  need  me,  dear/'  he  said  earnestly. 
"What  does  danger  to  one  man  mean  when 
Dixie  calls  us  all?  And  I'm  doing  work — 
good  work.  I've  already  given  one  battle  to 
General  Lee  and  now  I  have  information  that 
will  give  him  another  and  a  bigger  one.  Two 
(nights  ago  I  came  through  the  Union  lines. 
'I  .  .  ." 

Mrs.  Gary  rose  unsteadily  to  her  feet. 

"Through  the  Yankee  lines!  Oh,  Herbert. 
Not  as  a  spy!" 

"A   spy?     Of   course   not.     I   hid   in   the 


83         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

woods  all  day,  then  climbed  a  tall  pine  tree 
and  got  the  lay  of  their  camp — the  number  of 
their  guns — the  disposition  of  forces  and  their 
lines  of  attack.  Yesterday  I  had  the  wires  at 
Drury's  Bluff  and  started  trouble.  I'm  on  my 
way  now  to  join  my  command,  but  I  had  a 
good  excuse  for  coming  home  to  hold  you  in 
in  my  arms  again,  if  only  for  a  moment.  You 
see,  poor  old  Roger  got  a  wound  in  his  flank 
— from  a  stray  bullet." 

"A  stray  bullet,"  asked  Mrs.  Gary,  doubt- 
fully. 

"Yes,"  he  smiled,  for  he  had  escaped  it,  "a 
stray  bullet  meant  for  me" 

"But,  Daddy,"  Virgie  interrupted,  "while 
you  were  up  in  the  tree — " 

A  wild  whoop  broke  off  Virgie's  question. 
Sally  Ann  was  rushing  down  the  steps,  her 
eyes  rolling  up  with  excitement. 

"Mars'  Caryl  Mars'  Gary!  Somebody 
comin'  long  de  road!" 

"Who?  How  many?"  Gary  demanded, 
springing  up  and  running  towards  the  gate 
that  opened  on  the  wagon  road  over  the 
hills. 


39 

"Des'  one,"  responded  Sally  Ann  with 
naive  truthfulness.  "OF  Dr.  Simmons.  He 
drivin'  by  de  gate  in  de  buggy." 

Mrs.  Gary  threw  up  her  hands  with  a  muf- 
fled cry  of  relief  and  laughter.  "Oh,  Sally! 
Sally!"  she  exclaimed,  "you'll  be  the  death 
of  me." 

"But  Lor!  Miss  Hallie,"  said  Sally  plain- 
tively, "he  tolc  me  fer  to  tell  him." 

Gary,  returning,  waved  Sally  Ann  back  to 
her  post.  "That's  right,"  he  laughed. 
"You're  a  good  sentry,  Sally  Ann.  Go  back 
and  watch  again.  Scoot!" 

"Herbert,"  and  his  wife  stood  before  him. 
"Come  into  the  house  and  let  me  give  you 
something  to  eat." 

For  answer  Gary  gently  imprisoned  her 
face  in  his  hands.  "Honey,  I  can't,"  he  said, 
his  eyes  grown  sad  again.  "Just  fix  me  up 
something — anything  you  can  find.  I'll 
munch  it  in  the  saddle." 

For  a  moment  their  lips  clung  and  then  she 
stepped  back  with  a  broken  sigh.  "I'll  do  the 
best  I  can,  but  oh !  how  I  wish  it  all  were  over 
and  that  we  had  you  home  again." 


40         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

A  spasm  crossed  the  man's  face.  "It  soon 
Will  be  over,  sweetheart.  It  soon  will  be." 

His  wife  flung  him  a  startled  look.  "You 
mean —  Oh,  Herbert!  Isn't  there  a  single 
hope — even  the  tiniest  ray?" 

Gary  took  her  hands  in  his,  looked  into  her 
eyes  and  his  answer  breathed  the  still  uncon- 
quered  spirit  of  the  South.  "There  is  always 
hope — as  long  as  we  have  a  man."  Mrs.  Gary 
went  into  the  house,  slowly,  wearily,  and  Gary 
turned  to  Virgie. 

"Well,  little  lady,"  her  father  said,  resting 
his  hand  on  Virgie's  shining  head.  "Have 
you  been  taking  good  care  of  mother — and 
seeing  that  Uncle  Billy  does  his  plowing 
right?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  came  the  prompt  response, 
"Susan  Jemima  an'  me  have  been  lookiii' 
after  everything — but  we  had  to  eat  up  Gen- 
eral Butler!" 

"General  Butler,"  cried  her  father,  as- 
tounded. 

"Yes,  Daddy — our  lastest  calf.  We  named 
him  that  'cause  one  day  when  I  was  feedin' 


41 

him  with  milk  he  nearly  swallowed  my  silver 
spoon." 

"Ha-ha,"  laughed  the  amused  soldier,  and 
swept  her  up  in  his  arms.  "If  we  could  only 
get  rid  of  all  their  generals  as  easy  as  that 
we'd  promise  not  to  eat  again  for  a  week. 
Everything  else  all  right?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Virgie,  dolefully.  "All  the 
niggers  has  runned  away — all  'cept  Uncle 
Billy  and  Sally  Ann.  Jeems  Henry  runned 
away  this  morning." 

"The  deuce  he  did!     The  young  scamp!" 

"He's  gone  to  join  the  Yankees,"  Virgie 
continued. 

"What's  that?"  and  Gary  sprang  up  to  pace 
to  and  fro.  "I  wonder  which  way  he  went?" 

"I  don'  know,"  whimpered  Virgie  forlornly. 
"I  only  wish  I  was  a  soldier  with  a  big,  sharp 
sword  like  yours — 'cause  when  the  blue  boys 
came  I'd  stick  'em  in  the  stomach." 

Mrs.  Gary  was  coming  down  the  steps  now 
with  a  small  package  of  food  and  in  the  road- 
way Uncle  Billy  stood  feeding  and  watering 
his  master's  horse.  In  this  bitterest  of  mo- 


42         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

ments,  when  his  own  family  had  to  be  the  ones 
to  hurry  him  along  his  way,  there  had  come 
another  and  greater  danger — peril  to  those  he 
loved. 

"Tell  me,  dear,"  he  said  with  his  hand  warm 
on  his  wife's  soft  shoulder.  "Is  it  true  that 
Jeems  Henry  ran  away  this  morning?" 

"Yes,"  she  nodded.  "I  knew  the  poor  boy 
meant  to  leave  us  sooner  or  later,  so  I  made 
no  effort  to  detain  him." 

"You  did  right,"  was  the  answer.  "But 
which  way  did  he  go?" 

"Up  the  river.  To  a  Union  camp  on  the 
C  hickahominy . ' ' 

"Chickahominy!"  exclaimed  Gary  sharply, 
and  bit  his  lips.  "So  that's  the  lay  of  the  land, 
eh!  I'm  mighty  glad  you  told  me  this.  But 
still — "  Gary's  voice  faded  away  under  the 
weight  of  a  sudden  despair.  What  was  the 
use  of  fighting  forever  against  such  fearful 
odds ?  What  could  they  ever  gain — save  a  lit- 
tle more  honor — and  at  what  dreadful  cost? 

"What  makes  you  look  so  worried,  Her- 
bert?" his  wife  murmured,  her  nerves  on  edge 
again. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         43 

"Yes,  it's  true,"  the  man  said  with  a  groan. 
"They're  gradually  closing  in  on  us — sur- 
rounding Richmond." 

"Surrounding  us?"  Mrs.  Gary  whispered, 
hardly  believing  her  ears. 

"Yes,  it's  true — too  d — d  true,"  the  man 
burst  out  bitterly.  "We  can  fight  against 
thousands — and  against  tens  of  thousands  but, 
darling,  we  can't  fight  half  the  world." 

He  sank  down  on  the  bench,  one  elbow  on 
his  crossed  knee,  the  other  arm  hanging  list- 
lessly by  his  side.  His  face  grew  lined  and 
haggard.  All  the  spirit,  the  indomitable 
courage  of  a  moment  ago  had  fled  before  the 
revelation  that,  try  as  they  might,  they  could 
never  conquer  in  this  terribly  unequal  fight. 
Then  he  threw  out  his  hand  and  began  to 
speak,  half  to  her  and  half  to  the  unseen  arm- 
ies of  his  fellows. 

"Our  armies  are  exhausted.  Dwindling 
day  by  day.  We  are  drawing  from  the  cradle 
and  the  grave.  Old  men — who  can  scarcely 
bear  the  weight  of  a  musket  on  their  shoul- 
ders: and  boys — mere  children — who  are  sac- 
rificed under  the  blood-stained  wheels.  The 


44         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

best!  The  flower  of  our  land!  We  are 
dumping  them  all  into  a  big,  red  hopper. 
Feed!  Feed!  Always  more  feed  for  this 
damned  machine  of  war !" 

Silently  wife  and  daughter  came  to  the  man 
in  his  despair,  as  if  to  ward  off  some  dark 
shape  which  hovered  over  him  with  brushing 
wings.  Their  arms  went  around  him  together. 

"There,  there,  dear,"  he  heard  a  soft  voice 
whisper,  "don't  grow  despondent.  Think! 
Even  though  you've  fought  a  losing  fight  it 
has  been  a  glorious  one — and  God  will  not 
forget  the  Stars  and  Bars!  Remember, — you 
still  have  us — who  love  you  to  the  end — and 
fight  your  battles — on  our  knees." 

Slowly  the  man  looked  up. 

"Forgive  me,  honey,"  he  murmured  re- 
morsefully. "You  are  right — and  bravest, 
after  all.  It  is  you — you  women,  who  save  us 
In  the  darkest  hours.  You — our  wives — our 
mothers — who  wage  a  silent  battle  in  the 
lonely,  broken  homes.  You  give  us  love  and 
pity — tenderness  and  tears — a  flag  of  pride 
that  turns  defeat  to  victory.  The  women  of 
the  South,"  he  cried,  and  Herbert  Gary 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         45 

doffed  his  hat  before  his  wife,  "the  crutch 
on  which  the  staggering  hope  of  Dixie  leans  1" 

There  came,  then,  the  sound  of  hurrying 
footsteps.  Once  more  Sally  Ann  rushed  from 
the  house  but  this  time  genuine  danger  was 
written  plainly  in  her  face. 

"Mars'  Caryl  Mars'  Gary!  Dey's  comin' 
dis  time— sho'  'miff !" 

"How  many?"  Gary  cried,  springing  for  the 
roadway  and  his  horse. 

"Dey's  comin'  thu'  de  woods — an*  Lawd 
Gawd,  de  yearth  is  fyar  blue  wid'  'em." 

"Billy!"  commanded  Gary.  "Take  Light- 
foot  as  fast  as  you  can  down  to  the  edge 
of  the  woods.  Don't  worry,  Hallie,  they'll 
never  catch  me  once  I'm  in  the  saddle." 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her,  then  caught  up 
Virgie  for  a  last  hug,  burying  his  worn  face 
in  her  curls.  "Good-by,  little  one.  Take 
good  care  of  Mother.  Good-by!" 

With  one  last  grasp  his  wife  caught  his 
hand.  "Herbert!  which  way  do  you  go?" 

"Across  the  river — to  the  Chesterfield  side." 

"But  the  Yankees  came  that  way,  too!" 

"I'll  circle  around  them.     If  they've  left  a 


46         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

guard  at  the  crossing  I'll  swim  the  river 
higher  up."  He  slapped  his  holster  with  his 
open  hand.  "Listen  for  three  shots.  If  they 
come  in  quick  succession — then  I've  crossed — 
I'm  safe.  If  I  only  had  a  few  men  I'd  stay, 
but  alone,  I  can't — you  know  I  can't.  Good- 
byl  God  bless  you."  And  in  another  mo- 
ment he  was  in  the  saddle — had  waved  his 
hand — was  gone. 

Straining  their  eyes  after  him,  as  if  they 
would  somehow  pierce  the  dark  woods  which 
hid  his  flight,  mother  and  daughter  stood  as 
if  turned  to  stone.  Only  Virgie,  after  a  mo- 
ment, waved  her  hand  and  sent  her  soft, 
childish  prayer  winging  after  him  to  save  him 
from  all  harm.  "Good-by,  Daddy-man, 
good-by!" 

Sally  Ann,  however,  having  seen  the  ap- 
proaching danger  with  her  own  eyes,  began 
to  wring  her  hands  and  cry  hysterically. 
"Aw,  Miss  Hallie,  I  so  skeered!  I  so 
skeered!" 

"Sally,"  cried  Mrs.  Gary,  as  the  sound  of 
hoofbeats  thudding  through  the  woods  came 
unmistakably  to  her  ears,  "take  Virgie  with 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         47 

you  instantly  and  run  down  through  the  grove 
to  the  old  ice  house.  Hide  there  under  the 
pine  tags.  Understand?" 

But  the  negro  girl,  ashen  with  terror, 
seemed  incapable  of  flight. 

"I  skeered  to  go,  Miss  Hallie,"  she  whim- 
pered. "I  wan'  stay  here  wid  you!  Ou-oul" 

"But  you  can't,  I  tell  you,"  her  mistress  an- 
swered, as  the  certainty  of  the  girl's  helpless,, 
ness  before  a  questioner  flashed  through  her 
mind.  "You'd  tell  everything." 

"Oh,  come  on,  you  big  baby,"  Virgie  urged, 
pulling  at  Sally  Ann's  sleeve.  "I'll  take 
care  of  you."  Then  her  eye  fell  on  Susan 
Jemima  lying  neglected  on  the  bench  and  she 
gave  a  faint  scream  at  her  heartlessness. 
"Goodness  gracious,  Mother,"  she  cried,  as, 
still  holding  on  to  Sally  Ann,  she  ran  and 
caught  up  her  beloved  doll.  "I  nearly  forgot 
my  child!" 

With  the  clank  of  sabers  and  the  sound  of 
gruff  commands  already  in  her  ears,  Mrs. 
Gary  turned  peremptorily  to  Uncle  Billy. 

"Remember,  William!  If  the  Yankees 
ask  for  my  husband  you  haven't  seen  him!" 


48         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"Nor'm,  dat's  right,"  was  the  prompt 
answer.  "I  dunno  you  eben  got  one.  But 
you  go  in  de  house,  Miss  Hallie.  Dat's  de 
bes'  way, — yas'm." 

"Perhaps  it  is  best,"  his  mistress  answered. 
"The  longer  we  can  detain  them  the  better  for 
Captain  Gary.  You'd  better  come  in  your- 
self." 

"Yas'm,"  replied  the  faithful  old  man,  al- 
though such  action  was  farthest  from  his 
thoughts.  "In  des'  a  minnit.  I'll  be  dar  in 
des'  a  minnit." 

But  once  his  mistress  had  closed  the  door 
behind  her  Uncle  Billy's  plan  of  operations 
changed.  Hurrying  down  the  steps  he 
plunged  his  arm  under  the  porch  and  drew 
forth — a  rusty  ax.  With  his  weapon  over 
his  shoulder  he  hastened  up  on  the  veranda  and 
stood  with  his  back  against  the  door. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  thudding  feet  came  nearer.  A  bugle 
call — a  rattling  of  accouterments  and  then, 
from  the  other  side  of  the  hedge,  came  a  half 
dozen  troopers  in  blue,  led  by  a  Sergeant  with 
a  red  face  and  bloodshot  eyes. 

"This  way,  boys!"  the  Sergeant  shouted,  and 
at  the  sound  of  a  harsh,  never-forgotten  voice 
Uncle  Billy's  grasp  on  his  ax  grew  tighter. 
"I  know  the  place — I've  been  here  before. 
We'll  get  the  liquor  and  silver  while  the  Colo- 
nel is  stealing  the  horses,  eh?"  Then  his  eyes 
fell  on  Uncle  Billy  and  he  greeted  him  with 
a  yell  of  recognition.  "Hello,  you  d — d  old 
ape!  Come  down  and  show  us  where  you 
buried  the  silver  and  the  whisky.  Oh,  you 
won't?  Then  I'll  come  up  and  get  you,"  and 
he  lurched  forward. 

"Look  here,  white  man,"  Uncle  Billy 
shouted,  lifting  the  rusty  ax  high  in  the 
air,  "you  stay  whar  you  is.  Ef  you  come  up 

49 


50 

dem  steps  I'll  split  yo'  ugly  haid!  I  krow 
you,  Jim  Dudley,"  he  cried.  "Mars'  Gary 
done  give  you  one  horse  whippin',  an'  ef  you 
hang  aroun'  here  you'll  get  anudder  one!" 

Furious  at  the  recollection  of  his  shame  of 
a  few  years  back  when  he  had  been  overseer 
on  this  same  plantation,  the  Sergeant  rushed 
up  the  steps  and  knocked  the  ax  aside  with 
his  gun  barrel.  "Yes,  he  did  whip  me,  d — n 
him,  and  now  I'll  do  the  same  for  you." 
Seizing  Uncle  Billy  by  the  throat  he  pushed 
him  against  the  house. 

Instantly  the  door  swung  open.  Mrs. 
Carj'-,  her  head  held  high,  her  beautiful  dark 
eyes  blazing  with  wrath,  stood  on  the 
threshold. 

"Stop  it!"  she  commanded  in  tones  that 
brooked  no  disobedience  even  from  a  drunk- 
ard. "Let  my  servant  go — instantly!" 

Astounded  at  this  sudden  apparition  the 
man  shrank  back  for  a  moment,  but  almost 
as  quickly  regained  his  bluster. 

"Ah-hah,  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Gary,  eh!  I'm 
glad  to  see  you  looking  so  well — and  hand- 


some." 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         51 

The  words  might  as  well  have  been  spoken 
to  the  wind  for  all  the  notice  that  the  woman 
paid  them.  With  only  a  gesture  of  mingled 
contempt  and  loathing  she  stepped  to  the  rail- 
ing and  called  to  the  grinning  troopers  below. 
"Who  is  in  command  here?" 

To  her  horror  only  Dudley  answered. 

"I  am,"  he  said,  triumphantly.  He  thrust 
a  leering  face  close  to  hers  and  winked  at  her 
evilly.  "And  I'd  just  as  soon  have  you  get 
me  a  drink  as  the  nigger.  Come  on,  sweet- 
heart." 

Intent  on  insulting  this  woman  whose  hus- 
band had  once  cut  his  back  to  ribbons  the  man 
caught  her  by  the  arm  and  roughly  tried  to 
pull  her  to  him.  But  before  he  could  ac- 
complish his  purpose  retribution  fell  on  him 
with  a  heavy  hand. 

Through  a  gap  in  the  hedge  an  officer  at 
the  head  of  a  dozen  troopers  appeared.  One 
jlook  at  the  scene  on  the  veranda  and  Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel Morrison,  with  a  smothered 
oath,  dashed  up  the  steps. 

"You  drunken  whelp,"  and  catching  the 
drunkard  by  the  collar  he  twisted  him  around 


52         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

and  hurled  him  thudding  and  bumping  down 
the  steps.  "By  God,  I  ought  to  have  you 
shot."  He  swept  his  arm  out  and  gave  voice 
to  a  ringing  command.  "Report  to  Lieu- 
tenant Harris — at  once — under  arrest'.  Cor- 
poral! Take  his  gun."  He  paused  a  mo- 
ment as  a  brother  of  the  man  now  under  ar- 
rest stepped  forward  with  a  sullen  face  and 
obeyed  orders.  Running  his  glance  over  the 
line  of  faces,  now  suddenly  vacant  of  expres- 
sion, he  whipped  them  mercilessly  with  his 
eye.  "You  men,  too,  will  hear  from  me.  Go 
to  the  stable  and  wait.  Another  piece  of 
work  like  this  and  I'll  have  your  coats  cut  off 
with  a  belt  buckle!  Clear  out!" 

Then  he  turned  to  the  beautiful  woman  in 
white  who  stood  only  a  few  feet  away,  no 
longer  timid  but  in  entire  possession  of  her 
faculties  before  what,  she  knew,  might  prove 
a  greater  danger  than  a  drunkard. 

"Madam,"    said   the   Union   officer   as   he' 
doffed  his  hat,  "I  couldn't  apologize  for  this, 
no  matter  how  hard  I  tried;  but,  believe  me, 
I  regret  it — deeply." 

In  answer  she  slowly  raised  her  heavy  lidded 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         53 

eyes  and  gave  him  her  first  thrust — smoothly 
and  deftly. 

"No  apology  is  demanded,"  she  murmured 
in  soft  tones.  "I  was  merely  unfamiliar  with 
the  Union's  method  of  attack." 

"Attack!"  he  repeated,  astounded,  and 
stepped  back. 

"What  else?"  she  asked,  simply.  "My 
home  is  over-run;  my  servant  assaulted — by  a 
drunken  ruffian." 

"The  man  will  be  punished,"  was  the  stern 
reply,  "to  the  limit  of  my  authority." 

"He  should  be.  We  know  him,"  the  South- 
ern woman  said  bitterly.  "Before  the  war  he 
was  our  overseer.  He  was  cruel  to  the  ne- 
groes and  my  husband  gave  him  a  taste  of  his 
own  discipline — with  a  riding  whip!" 

"Ah,  I  see,"  Morrison  nodded.  "But  it  is 
not  always  in  an  officer's  power  to  control  each 
individual  in  the  service — especially  at  such  a 
time.  Yet  I  assure  you  on  the  part  of  the 
Union — and  mine — that  there  was  no  inten- 
tion of  attack." 

Mrs.  Gary  had  chosen  this  moment  in  which 
to  draw  her  visitor  off  the  veranda  and  when 


54.         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

she  had  successfully  brought  him  to  the  foot 
of  the  steps  she  looked  up  in  smiling  sarcasm 
with  another  thrust. 

"Oh!  Then  since  your  visit  would  seem  a 
social  one — how  may  I  serve  you,  sir?" 

Morrison  laughed  lightly.  This  pretty  cat 
could  scratch*. 

"I'm  afraid,  dear  madam,  you  are  wrong 
again.  My  detachment  is  on  foraging  duty. 
It  is  not  a  pleasant  task — but  our  army  is  in 
need  of  horses  and  supplies,  and  by  the  rules 
of  war,  I  must  take  what  I  can  find." 

"Even  by  force?"  came  the  quiet  in- 
quiry. 

"Yes,  even  force,"  he  answered,  reddening. 
"With  its  proper  limitations.  I  rob  you,  it  is 
true,  but  by  virtue  of  necessity.  In  return  I 
can  only  offer,  as  I  would  to  every  other 
woman  of  the  South,  all  courtesy  and  protec- 
tion at  my  command,"  and  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Morrison,  for  the  second  time,  took  off  his  hat. 

The  Southern  woman  swept  him  a  curtsey 
filled  with  graceful  mockery. 

"I  thank  you.  There  is  consolation — and 
even  flattery — in  being  plundered  by  a  gen- 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         55 

tleman."  She  made  a  short  gesture  which 
took  in  house,  plantation  and  all  the  Gary 
possessions.  "I  regret  sincerely  that  we 
have  nothing  left;  yet  I  beg  you — help  your- 
self." 

Colonel  Morrison  bit  his  lip,  half  in  vexa- 
tion and  half  in  amusement.  "At  least  you 
make  my  undertaking  a  difficult  one,  although 
the  Lord  knows,  I  hardly  blame  you."  And 
then,  with  a  quick,  searching  look,  "Are  there 
any  rebels  hidden  in  your  house?" 

"No,"  she  answered. 

"No  wounded  officers — or  refugees  of  any 
kind?" 

"None." 

"You  give  me  your  word  for  this — your 
oath?" 

The  Southern  woman's  head  went  up  and 
her  eyes  flashed.  "I  do,"  she  said  contemptu- 
ously and  moved  away. 

"Thank  you,"  was  the  grave  reply,  and  he 
turned  to  dismiss  his  men.  Then  a  thought 
struck  him  and  he  detained  her  with  a  ges- 
ture. 

"Pardon  me,  but  if  it  was  true — if  a  brother 


56         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

or  a  father — was  concealed  in  there — wouldn't 
your  answer  be  the  same?" 

The  answer  that  came  proudly  back  did  not 
amaze  him.  "I  would  try  to  protect  them — 
yes!  Even  with  a  perjury!" 

"Ah!"  he  said  sharply.  "Then,  don't  you 
you  see,  you  tie  the  hands  of  courtesy  and 
force  me  to — to  this  invasion  of  your  home. 
Corporal!  Make  a  search  of  the  house  for 
hidden  arms  or  stragglers  and  report  to  me. 
If  any  rebels  are  found — bring  them  out. 
Wait,"  he  ordered,  as  the  Corporal  promptly 
started  forward,  "nothing  else,  whatever,  must 
be  taken  or  molested." 

"One  moment,"  commanded  Mrs.  Gary  in 
her  turn  and  beckoned  to  Uncle  Billy  who 
had  been  standing  by  in  silence.  "William! 
conduct  these  soldiers  through  my  house — 
and  show  them  every  courtesy.  If  the  Colo- 
nel's orders  are  not  obeyed,  report  to  me." 

"Yas'm,"  grinned  Uncle  Billy,  with  an 
opera  bouffe  salute.  "Ev'ry  molestashun  I'se 
gwine  report." 

Morrison  laughed  outright.  "I'm  sorry 
you  still  have  doubts  of  my  honorable  inten- 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         57 

tions.  May — may  my  soldiers  go  in  now? 
Thank  you." 

He  walked  away  a  few  steps,  then  turned 
and  looked  at  her  where  she  sat  on  the  bench 
demurely  sewing.  It  occurred  to  him  that 
she  was  too  demure.  Besides,  he  had  discov- 
ered something. 

"Er — it  is  true  that  I  found  your  stable 
empty,"  he  said,  while  his  eyes  probed  hers, 
"but,  curiously  enough,  it  seems  to  have  been 
recently  occupied." 

"Yes?"  was  the  non-committal  reply. 

"Yes,"  he  echoed,  with  a  touch  of  iron  in  his 
voice.  "And  you  can  insure  our  leaving  you 
more  quickly  if  you  will  tell  me  where  these 
horses  have  been  hidden." 

Mrs.  Gary  did  not  raise  her  eyes. 

"Granted  that  we  had  them,"  she  said,  "I'm 
afraid  I  must  trouble  you  to  look  for  them. 
Otherwise  there  would  be  no  sense  in  trying 
to  protect  my  property." 

"Right  again,"  he  acknowledged,  but  did 
not  swerve  from  what  he  had  to  do.  "Or- 
derly," he  commanded,  "report  to  Lieutenant 
Harris  at  the  stables  and  have  him  hunt  the 


58         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

woods  and  swamp  for  hidden  horses.  Hurry ! 
We  must  leave  in  half  an  hour." 

As  Morrison  spoke  his  eye  fell  on  the  road' 
way  and  he  started  perceptibly.  When  he 
turned  back  to  the  woman  on  the  bench  it  was 
with  a  sterner  light  in  his  eye. 

"I  also  notice  that  a  horse  has  recently  been 
fed  and  watered  in  your  carriage  road. 
Whose  was  he?" 

Again  that  smooth,  soft  voice  with  its 
languid  evasions.  "We  have  several  neigh- 
bors, Colonel.  They  visit  us  at  infrequent 
times." 

"Undoubtedly,"  He  conceded.  "But  do 
you  usually  feed  their  horses?" 

She  smiled  faintly.  "What  little  hospi- 
tality is  ours  extends  to  both  man  and  beast." 

"I  can  well  believe  it,"  he  replied,  for  he 
saw  to  cross-examine  this  quick  witted  woman 
would  be  forever  useless.  "And  in  happier 
times  I  could  wish  it  might  extend — to  me. 

"Oh,  I  mean  no  offense,"  he  interrupted 
as  Mrs.  Gary  rose  haughtily.  "I  only  want 
you  to  believe  that  I'm  sorry  for  this  intru- 
sion." 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         59 

She  raised  her  eyebrows  faintly  and  sat 
down  again.  "And  was  that  the  reason  why 
you  asked  about  my  neighbor's  horse?" 

"No,"  he  said  quickly,  and  as  suddenly 
caught  and  held  her  eye.  "There's  a  Rebel 
scout  who  has  been  giving  us  trouble — a  hand- 
some fellow  riding  a  bay  horse.  I  thought, 
perhaps,  he  might  have  passed  this  way." 

If  he  had  thought  he  would  detect  anything 
in  her  face  he  was  once  more  mistaken. 

"It  is  more  than  possible,"  Mrs.  Gary  re- 
marked with  a  touch  of  weariness.  "The 
road  out  there  is  a  public  one." 

"And  where  does  it  lead  to,  may  I  ask?" 

"That  depends  upon  which  way  you  are 
traveling — and  which  fork  you  take." 

"Possibly.  But  suppose  you  were  riding 
north.  Wouldn't  the  right  fork  lead  to  Rich- 
mond— and  the  left  swing  around  toward  the 
river  crossing?" 

"As  to  that  I  must  refer  you  to  a  more  com- 
petent authority,"  she  answered  with  a  hint  of 
some  disclosure  in  her  tones. 

"Who?" 

"Mr.  Jefferson  Davis,"  she  replied  and  al- 


60         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

most  laughed  outright  as  he  turned  away  to 
hide  his  vexation.  This  was  an  easy  game  for 
her  to  play — and  every  moment  she  gained 
added  to  Herbert's  safety.  But  if  only  she 
could  hear  those  three  shots  from  across  the 
river. 

"Well,  Harris?"  said  Morrison  as  his  Lieu- 
tenant strode  up. 

"I  have  to  report,  sir,  that  we've  gotten 
what  little  hay  and  corn  there  was  in  the 
stables  and  are  waiting  for  your  orders." 

"Very  well,"  and  Lieutenant-Colonel  Mor- 
rison's incisive  words  rang  mercilessly  in  the 
listening  woman's  ears.  "Pick  out  the  best 
shots  you  have  among  your  men  and  send 
them  at  the  gallop  down  this  road  to  the  river 
crossing.  String  them  along  the  bank,  dis- 
mount them  and  have  them  watch  as  they've 
never  watched  before.  You  understand? 
Now  hurry!" 

If  ever  a  woman  hated  a  man,  or  rather  the 
crushing  force  he  typified,  then  Herbert 
Gary's  wife  hated  this  clear  headed,  efficient 
Northerner,  who  was  now  discovering  how  he 
had  been  delayed  and  thwarted.  Yet  she  had 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         61 

plenty  of  spirit  left,  for  as  Corporal  Dudley 
and  his  file  of  troopers  emerged  from  the 
house  she  stood  up  and  caught  Uncle  Billy's 
eye. 

"Well,  Corporal?"  asked  Morrison. 
"Well,  William?"  asked  Mrs.  Cary. 
"It's  all  right,  Miss  Hallie,"  Uncle  Billy 
grinned.     "Dey    ain't    took    nothin' — not    a 
single  thing." 

"Thank  you,  William,"  said  Mrs.  Cary, 
having  triumphed  again.  "And  thank  you, 
gentlemen."  With  a  bow  to  Morrison  she 
went  superbly  back  to  her  seat  under  the 
trees.  But  as  she  went  it  took  all  her  strength 
of  will  to  keep  from  crying.  Down  the  car- 
riage road  a  squad  of  cavalry  was  galloping 
furiously  towards  the  river.  And  still  she 
had  not  heard  the  three  shots. 

"Now,  then,  Corporal,  you  found  what?" 
"Nothing,  sir.     We  hunted  from  cellar  to 
roof.     No  arms  and  no  rebels." 

"H'm,"  he  mused.     "Anything  else ?" 
"Three  bedrooms,  sir.     All  in  use." 
"Three?"     Colonel     Morrison     exclaimed. 
"Very  well.     That's  all.     I'll  join  you  in  a 


62         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

moment."  Then  he  turned  to  Mrs.  Gary,  his 
face  stern  with  resolve. 

"Madam,"  he  said  crisply,  "you  are  not 
alone  on  this  plantation  with  only  this  old  ne- 
gro. We  are  wasting  time.  I'm  after  a 
Rebel  scout  and  I  want  him.  Which  way 
did  he  go?" 

"I'm  sorry,  sir,"  she  said,  quite  ready  to 
play  her  game  again.  "But  our  Rebel  scouts 
usually  neglect  to  mention  their  precise  in- 
tentions." 

"Perhaps.  If  this  one  went  at  all.  Is  he 
still  here?" 

"I  should  imagine — not" 

"Then  he  did  go  this  way — to  the  river 
crossing?" 

Once  more  he  caught  and  held  her  eyes  and 
thought  he  would  read  the  truth  in  spite  of 
anything  she  might  say. 

But  while  he  looked  he  saw  her  strained 
face  suddenly  relax — saw  the  anxiety  flee 
from  her  eyes — saw  heart  and  soul  take  on  new 
life.  From  far  away  across  the  river  had 
come  some  faint  popping  sounds,  regularly 
spaced — three  shots. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         63 

"Ah!"  he  said,  in  wonder.     "What  is  that?" 

"It  sounds"  laughed  Herbert  Gary's  wife, 
"like  firing.  But  I  think  it  is  a  friend  of 
mine  saluting  me — from  the  safe  side  of  the 
river.  Good  evening,  Colonel,"  and  she 
swept  by  him.  She  could  go  find  Virgie  now. 

Just  then  came  the  sound  of  a  horse,  gallop- 
ing. Up  the  road  came  a  trooper,  white  with 
dust,  his  animal  flecked  with  foam. 

"For  Colonel  Morrison.  Urgent,"  he 
rasped  from  a  dry  throat,  as  he  thudded  across 
the  lawn  and  dismounted.  "From  headquar- 
ters," and  he  thrust  out  a  dispatch,  "I'm 
ordered  to  return  with  your  detachment." 

Snatching  the  dispatch  from  the  man's 
hand  Morrison  ran  his  eye  over  it — then 
started  visibly. 

"Orderly!  Report  to  Harris  double-quick. 
Recall  the  men.  Sound  boots-and-saddles. 
Then  bring  my  horse — at  once!  Any  de- 
tails?" he  asked  peremptorily  of  the  courier. 

"Big  battle  to-morrow,"  the  man  answered. 
"Two  gunboats  are  reported  coming  up  the 
river  and  a  wing  of  the  Rebel  army  is  ad- 
vancing from  Petersburg.  Every  available 


64 

detachment  is  ordered  in.  You  are  to  reach 
camp  before  morning." 

"All  right.  We'll  be  there."  Then,  as  the 
bugle  sounded,  "Ride  with  us,"  he  said,  and 
strode  over  to  where  Mrs.  Gary  stood,  arrested 
by  the  news. 

"Madam,  I  must  make  you  a  rather  hurried 
farewell — and  a  last  apology.  If  ever  we 
meet  again,  I  hope  the  conditions  may  be 
happier — for  you." 

"I  thank  you,  Colonel,"  the  proud  Southern 
woman  said  sincerely,  with  a  curtsy.  "Some 
day  the  'rebel  scout'  may  thank  you  also  for 
me  and  mine."  And  with  a  smile  that  au- 
gured friendship  when  that  brighter  day 
should  come  she  passed  out  of  his  sight  among 
the  trees. 

For  a  moment  he  watched  her,  proud  at 
least  that  this  proud  woman  was  of  his  own 
race,  then  saw  that  the  old  negro,  her  only  pro- 
tector, still  guarded  the  house. 

"Here,  old  man,"  he  commanded,  "go  along 
with  your  mistress  and  take  care  of  her.  I'll 
be  the  last  to  leave  and  see  that  nothing  hap- 
pens to  the  house." 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         65 

"Yas,  seh.  Thank'e,  sell,"  said  old  Uncle 
Billy,  coming  down.  "If  all  of  'em  was  only 
lek  you,  seh — " 

Uncle  Billy  suddenly  turned  and  looked  up 
at  the  house,  his  mouth  open  in  consternation. 
With  a  cry  of  anguish  he  pointed  to  an  upper 
window. 

"Look  what  dey  done  done,"  he  shrieked. 
"Aw,  Gawd  a'mighty!  Look  what  dey  done 
done!" 

A  cloud  of  smoke  was  rolling  from  the 
windows,  shot  through  with  yellow  jets  of 
flame.  There  was  the  sound  of  clumsy  boots 
on  the  stairs  and  the  door  was  thrown  open. 
Dudley,  escaped  from  arrest,  ran  out  with  a 
flaming  pine  torch  in  his  hand. 

"God!"  cried  Morrison,  with  raging  anger. 
"Dudley!  HALT!" 

But  Dudley  knew  that  there  would  be  little 
use  in  halting  arid  so  ran  on  until  a  big  revol- 
ver barked  behind  him  and  he  pitched  heavily 
forward  on  his  face.  Morrison  looked  down 
on  the  prostrate  form  and  his  lips  moved  sadly, 
pityingly: 

"And  I  promised  her — protection  1" 


CHAPTER  IV 

OF  all  the  memories  of  war,  after  the  dear 
dead  are  buried,  there  is  one  that  serves  to 
bring  the  struggle  back  in  all  the  intensity 
of  its  horrors — to  stand  both  as  a  monument 
to  those  who  bled  and  suffered  and  as  a  lonely 
sentinel  mourning  for  the  peace  and  plenty 
of  the  past — a  blackened  chimney. 

Of  all  the  houses,  cabins,  barns  and  cribs 
which  had  made  up  the  home  of  the  Carys  a 
few  short  months  ago  nothing  remained  to- 
day but  ashes  and  black  ruin.  Only  one  build- 
ing had  been  left  unburned  and  this,  before 
the  war,  had  been  the  cabin  of  an  overseer. 
It  had  but  two  rooms,  and  a  shallow  attic, 
which  was  gained  by  means  of  an  iron  ladder 
j  reaching  to  a  closely  fitting  scuttle  in  the  ceil- 
ing. The  larger  room  was  furnished  mea- 
gerly  with  a  rough  deal  table,  several  common 
chairs,  and  a  double-doored  cupboard  against 
the  wall.  In  the  deep,  wide  fire-place  glowed 

66 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         67 

a  heap  of  raked-up  embers,  on  which,  sus- 
pended from  an  iron  crane,  a  kettle  simmered, 
sadly,  as  if  in  grief  for  her  long-lost  brother 
pots  and  pans.  The  plaster  on  the  walls  had 
broken  away  in  patches,  especially  above  the 
door,  where  the  sunlight  streamed  through 
the  gaping  wound  from  a  cannon  shot.  The 
door  and  window  shutters  were  of  heavy  oak, 
swinging  inward  and  fastening  with  bars ;  yet 
now  they  were  open,  and  through  them  could 
be  seen  a  dreary  stretch  of  river  bottom,  with- 
ering  beneath  the  rays  of  a  July  sun. 

Beyond  a  distant  fringe  of  trees  the  muddy 
James  went  murmuring  down  its  muddy 
banks,  where  the  blue  cranes  waited  solemnly 
for  the  ebbing  tide;  where  the  crows  cawed 
hoarsely  in  their  busy,  reeling  flight,  and  the 
buzzards  swung  high  above  the  marshes.  Yet 
even  in  this  waste  of  listless  desolation  came 
the  echoed  boom  of  heavy  guns  far  down  the 
river,  where  the  "Rebs"  and  "Yanks"  were 
pounding  one  another  lazily. 

From  the  woods  which  skirted  the  carriage 
road  a  man  appeared — a  thin,  worn  man,  in  a 
uniform  of  stained  and  tattered  gray — a  man 


68         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

who  peered  from  right  to  left,  as  a  hunted  rab- 
bit might,  then  darted  across  the  road  and 
plunged  into  the  briery  underbrush.  Noise- 
lessly he  made  his  way  to  the  now  deserted 
cabin,  creeping,  crawling  till  he  reached  a 
point  below  an  open  window,  then  slowly  raised 
himself  and  looked  within. 

"Virgie!"  he  whispered  cautiously.  "Vir- 
gie!" 

No  answer  came.  For  a  moment  the  man 
leaned  dizzily  against  the  wTindowsill,  his  eyes 
fast  closed  with  a  nameless  dread,  till  he 
caught  his  grip  again  and  entered  the  open 
door. 

"Virgie!"  he  called,  in  a  louder  tone,  mov- 
ing swiftly  but  unsteadily  toward  the  adjoin- 
ing room.  He  flung  its  door  open  sharply, 
almost  angrily;  yet  the  name  on  his  lips  was 
tender,  trembling,  as  he  called:  "Virgie! 
Virgie!" 

In  the  loneliness  of  dread,  he  once  more 
leaned  for  support  against  the  wall,  wonder- 
ing, listening  to  the  pounding  of  his  heart, 
to  the  murmur  of  the  muddy  James,  and  the 
fall  of  a  flake  of  plaster  loosened  by  the  dull 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         69 

reverberation  of  a  distant  gun;  then  suddenly 
his  eye  was  caught  by  the  kettle  simmering  on 
the  fire,  and  he  sighed  in  swift  relief. 

He  wiped  his  brow  with  a  ragged  sleeve 
and  went  to  where  a  water-bucket  stood  be- 
hind the  door,  knelt  beside  it,  drinking  deeply, 
gratefully,  yet  listening  the  while  for  un- 
wonted sounds  and  watching  the  bend  of 
the  carriage  road.  His  thirst  appeased,  he 
hunted  vainly  through  the  table  drawer  for 
balls  and  powder  for  the  empty  pistol  at  his 
hip;  then,  instinctively  alert  to  some  rustling 
sound  outside,  he  crouched  toward  the  adjoin- 
ing room,  slipped  in,  and  softly  closed  the 
door. 

From  the  sunlit  world  beyond  the  cabin 
walls  rose  the  murmur  of  a  childish  song  and 
Virgie  came  pattering  in. 

She  had  not  changed  greatly  in  stature  in 
the  past  few  months,  but  there  was  a  very  no- 
ticeable decrease  in  the  girth  of  her  little  arms 
and  body,  and  her  big  dark  eyes  seemed  the 
larger  for  the  whiteness  of  her  face.  On  her 
head  she  wore  an  old  calico  bonnet  several 
sizes  too  large  and  the  gingham  dress  which 


70         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

scarcely  reached  to  her  bare,  brown  knees 
would  not  have  done,  a  few  months  ago,  for 
even  Sally  Ann.  In  one  hand  Virgie  carried 
a  small  tin  bucket  filled  with  berries;  in  the 
other  she  clutched  a  doll  lovingly  against  her 
breast. 

Xot  the  old  Susan  Jemima,  but  a  new  Susan 
Jemima  on  whom  an  equal  affection  was  being 
lavished  even  though  she  was  strangely  and 
wonderfully  made.  To  the  intimate  view  of 
the  unimaginative,  Susan  Jemima  was  formed 
from  the  limb  of  a  cedar  tree,  the  forking 
branches  being  her  arms  and  legs,  her  costume 
consisting  of  a  piece  of  rag  tied  at  the  waist 
with  a  bit  of  string. 

On  a  chair  at  the  table  Virgie  set  her  doll, 
then  laughed  at  the  hopelessness  of  its  break- 
fasting with  any  degree  of  comfort,  or  of  ease. 

"Why,  Lord  a-mercy,  child,  your  chin  don't 
come  up  to  the  table." 

On  the  chair  she  placed  a  wooden  box,; 
perching  the  doll  on  top  and  taking  a  seat 
herself  just  opposite.  She  emptied  the  black- 
berries into  a  mutilated  plate,  brought  from 
the  cupboard  a  handful  of  toasted  acorns,  on 


71 

which  she  poured  boiling  water,  then  set  the 
concoction  aside  to  steep. 

"Now,  Miss  Susan  Jemima,"  said  Virgie, 
addressing  her  vis-a-vis  with  the  hospitable 
courtesy  due  to  so  great  a  lady,  "we  are  goin' 
to  have  some  breakfas'."  She  paused,  in  a 
shade  of  doubt,  then  smiled  a  faint  apology: 
"It  isn't  very  much  of  a  breakfas',  darlin', 
but  we'll  make  believe  it's  waffles  an'  chicken 
an' — an'  hot  rolls  an'  batter-bread  an' — an' 
everything."  She  rose  to  her  little  bare  feet, 
holding  her  wisp  of  a  skirt  aside,  and  made  a 
sweeping  bow.  "Allow  me,  Miss  Jemima,  to 
make  you  a  mos'  delicious  cup  of  coffee." 

And,  while  the  little  hostess  prepared  the 
meal,  a  man  looked  out  from  the  partly  open 
door  behind  her,  with  big  dark  eyes,  which 
were  like  her  own,  yet  blurred  by  a  mist  of 
pity  and  of  love. 

"Susan,"  said  the  hostess  presently,  "it's 
ready  now,  and  we'll  say  grace;  so  don't  you 
talk  an'  annoy  your  mother." 

The  tiny  brown  head  was  bowed.  The  tiny 
brown  hands,  with  their  berry-stained  fingers, 
were  placed  on  the  table's  edge;  but  Miss 


72         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

Susan  Jemima  sat  bolt  upright,  though  listen- 
ing, it  seemed,  to  the  words  of  reverence  fall- 
ing from  a  mother-baby's  lips : 

"Lord,  make  us  thankful  for  the  blackber-, 
ries    an*    the    aco'n    coffee   an' — an'    all   our 
blessin's ;  but  please,  sir,  sen'  us  somethin'  that 
tastes  jus'  a  little  better — if  you  don't  mind. 
Amen!" 

And  the  man,  who  leaned  against  the  door 
and  watched,  had  also  bowed  his  head.  A 
pain  was  in  his  throat — and  in  his  heart — a 
pain  that  gripped  him,  till  two  great  tears 
rolled  down  his  war-worn  cheek  and  were  lost 
in  his  straggling  beard. 

" Virgie !"  he  whispered  hoarsely.     " Virgie  1" 

She  started  at  the  sound  and  looked  about 
her,  wondering;  then,  as  the  name  was  called 
again,  she  slid  from  her  chair  and  ran  forward 
with  a  joyous  cry: 

"Why,  Daddy!     Is  it  you?    Is—" 

She  stopped,  for  the  man  had  placed  a 
finger  on  his  lip  and  was  pointing  to  the  door. 

"Take  a  look  down  the  road,"  he  ordered, 
in  a  guarded  voice ;  and,  when  she  had  reached 
a  point  commanding  the  danger  zone,  he 


The  home  of  the  Carys,  before  the  war 


"Virgie,"  he  whispered  hoarsely.     "Virgie !" 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         73 

asked,  "See  anybody? — soldiers?"  She  shook 
her  head.  "Hear  anything?" 

She  stood  for  a  moment  listening,  then  ran 
to  him,  and  sprang  into  his  waiting  arms. 

"It's  all  right,  Daddy!  It's  all  right 
now!" 

He  raised  her,  strained  her  to  his  breast, 
his  cheek  against  her  own. 

"My  little  girl!"  he  murmured  between  his 
kisses.  "My  little  rebel!"  And  as  she 
snuggled  in  his  arms,  her  berry-stained  fingers 
clasped  tightly  about  his  neck,  he  asked  her 
wistfully,  "Did  you  miss  me? — awful  much?" 

"Yes,"  she  nodded,  looking  into  his  eyes. 
"Yes — in  the  night  time — when  the  wind  was 

talkin';  but,  after  while,  when Why, 

Daddy!"  He  had  staggered  as  he  set  her 
down,  sinking  into  a  chair  and  closing  his  eyes 
as  he  leaned  on  the  table's  edge.  "You 
are  hurt!"  she  cried.  "I — I  can  see  the 
/blood!" 

The  wounded  Southerner  braced  himself. 

"No,  dear,  no,"  he  strove  to  reassure  her. 
"It  isn't  anything;  only  a  little  scratch — from 
a  Yank — that  tried  to  get  me.  But  he  didn't, 


74 

though,"  the  soldier  added  with  a  smile.  "I'm 
just — tired." 

The  child  regarded  him  in  wondering  awe, 
speaking  in  a  half-breathed  whisper: 

"Did  he — did  he  shoot  at  you?" 

Her  father  nodded,  with  his  hand  on  her 
tumbled  hair. 

"Yes,  honey,  I'm  afraid  he  did;  but  I'm  so 
used  to  it  now  I  don't  mind  it  any  more.  Get 
me  a  drink  of  water,  will  you?"  As  Virgie 
obeyed  in  silence,  returning  with  the  dripping 
gourd,  the  man  went  on:  "I  tried  to  get  here 
yesterday;  but  I  couldn't.  They  chased  me 
when  I  came  before — and  now  they're  watch- 
ing." He  paused  to  sip  at  his  draught  of 
water,  glancing  toward  the  carriage  road. 
"Big  fight  down  the  river.  Listen!  Can  you 
hear  the  guns?" 

"Yes,  plain,"  she  answered,  tilting  her  tiny 
head.  "An'  las'  night,  when  I  went  to  bed, 
I  could  hear  'em — oh!  ever  so  loud:  Boom! 
Boom!  Boom-boom!  So  I  knelt  up  an' 
asked  the  Lord  not  to  let  any  of  'em  hit  you." 

Two  arms,  in  their  tattered  gray,  slipped 
round  the  child.  He  kissed  her,  in  that 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         75 

strange,  fierce  passion  of  a  man  who  has  lost 
his  mate,  and  his  grief-torn  love  is  magnified 
in  the  mite  who  reflects  her  image  and  her 
memory. 

"Did  you,  honey?"  he  asked,  with  a  trem- 
bling lip.  "Well,  I  reckon  that  saved  your 
daddy,  for  not  one  shell  touched  him — no,  not 
one!"  He  kissed  her  again,  and  laughed, 
"And  I  tell  you,  Virgie,  they  were  coming  as 
thick  as  bees." 

Once  more  he  sipped  at  the  grateful,  cool- 
ing draught  of  water,  when  the  child  asked 
suddenly : 

"How  is  Gen'ral  Lee?" 

Down  came  the  gourd  upon  the  table.  The 
Southerner  was  on  his  feet,  with  a  stiffened 
back ;  and  his  dusty  slouch  hat  was  in  his  hand. 

"He's  well;  God  bless  him!    Well!" 

The  tone  was  deep  and  tender,  proud,  but 
as  reverent  as  the  baby's  prayer  for  her  father's 
immunity  from  harm;  yet  the  man  who  spoke 
sank  back  into  his  seat,  closing  his  eyes  and 
repeating  slowly,  sadly: 

"He's  well;  God  bless  him!  But  he's  tired, 
darling — mighty  tired." 


76 

"Daddy,"  the  soldier's  daughter  asked,  "will 
you  tell  him  somethin' — from  me?" 

"Yes,  dear.     What?" 

"Tell  him,"  said  the  child,  with  a  thoughtful 
glance  at  Miss  Susan  Jemima  across  the  table, 
"tell  him,  if  he  ever  marches  along  this  way, 
I'll  come  over  to  his  tent  and  rub  his  head,  like 
I  do  yours — if  he'll  let  me — till  he  goes  to 
sleep."  She  clasped  her  fingers  and  looked 
into  her  father's  eyes,  hopefully,  appealingly. 
"Do  you  think  he  would,  if — if  I  washed  my 
hands — real  clean?" 

The  Southerner  bit  his  lip  and  tried  to  smile. 

"Yes,  honey,  I  know  he  would!  And  think! 
He  sent  a  message — to  you.39 

"Did  he?"  she  asked,  wide-eyed,  flushed  with 
happiness.  "What  did  he  say,  Daddy? 
What?" 

"He  said,"  her  father  answered,  taking  her 
hands  in  his:  "  'She's  a  brave  little  soldier,  to 
stay  there  all  alone.  Dixie  and  I  are  proud 
of  her!'" 

"Oh,  Daddy,  did  he?    Did  he?" 

"Yes,  dear,  yes,"  the  soldier  nodded;  "his 
very  words.  And  look!"  From  his  boot  leg 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         77 

he  took  a  folded  paper  and  spread  it  on  his 
knee.  "He  wrote  you  a  pass — to  Richmond. 
Can  you  read  it?" 

Virgie  leaned  against  her  father's  shoulder, 
studying  the  paper  long  and  earnestly;  then, 
presently  looked  up,  with  a  note  of  grave  but 
courteous  hesitation  in  her  tone: 

"Well — he — well,  the  Gen'ral  writes  a  aw- 
ful bad  hand,  Daddy." 

Her  father  laughed  in  genuine  delight,  vow- 
ing in  his  heart  to  tell  his  general  and  friend 
of  this  crushing  criticism,  if  ever  the  fates  of 
war  permitted  them  to  meet  again. 

"Dead  right!"  he  agreed,  with  hearty 
promptness.  "But  come,  I'll  read  it  for  you. 
TsTow  then.  Listen: 

"  HEADQUARTERS  OF  THE  ARMY  OF  NORTHERN  VA. 
"Pass  Virginia  Gary  and  escort  through  all  Confed- 
erate lines  and  give  safe-conduct  wherever  possible. 

"R.  E.  LEE,  General." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  then  Virgie 
looked  up,  with  tears  in  her  eyes  and  voice. 

"An'  he  did  that— for  little  me?  Oh, 
Daddy,  I  love  him  so  much,  it — it  makes  me 
want  to  cry." 


78         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

She  hid  her  face  on  the  coat  of  gray,  and 
sobbed;  while  her  father  stroked  her  hair  and 
answered  soothingty,  but  in  a  tone  of  mourn- 
ing reverie: 

"So  do  we  all,  darling;  big  grown  men,  who 
have  suffered,  and  are  losing  all  they  love. 
They  are  ragged — and  wounded — hungry — 
and,  oh,  so  tired!  But,  when  they  think  of 
him,  they  draw  up  their  belts  another  hole,  and 
say,  'For  General  Lee!'  And  then  they  can 
fight  and  fight  and  fight — till  their  hearts  stop 
beating — and  the  god  of  battles  writes  them 
a  bloody  pass!" 

Again  he  had  risen  to  his  feet.  He  was 
speaking  proudly,  in  the  reckless  passion  of 
the  yet  unconquered  Southerner,  only  half- 
conscious  of  the  tot  who  watched  him,  won- 
dering. So  she  came  to  him  quickly,  taking 
his  hand  in  both  her  own,  and  striving  to  bring 
him  comfort  from  the  fountain  of  her  little 
mother-heart. 

"Don't  you  worry,  Daddy-man.  We'll — 
we'll  whip  'em  yet." 

"No,  dear — no,"  he  sighed,  as  he  dropped 
into  his  seat.  "We  won't.  It's  hard  enough 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         79 

on  men;  but  harder  still  on  children  such  as 
you."  He  turned  to  her  gravely,  earnestly: 
"Virgie,  I  had  hoped  to  get  you  through  to 
Richmond — to-day.  But  I  can't.  The  Yan- 
kees have  cut  us  off.  They  are  up  the 
river  and  down  the  river — and  all  around  us. 
I've  been  nearly  the  whole  night  getting  here; 
creeping  through  the  woods — like  an  old 
Molly-cotton-tail — with  the  blue  boys  every- 
where, waiting  to  get  me  if  I  showed  my  head." 

"But  they  didn't,  did  they?"  said  Virgie, 
laughing  at  his  reference  to  the  wise  old  rabbit 
and  feeling  for  the  pockets  of  his  shabby  coat. 
"Did  you — did  you  bring  me  anything?" 

At  her  question  the  man  cried  out  as  if  in 
pain,  then  reached  for  her  in  a  wave  of  yearn- 
ing tenderness. 

"Listen,  dear;  I — I  had  a  little  bundle  for 
you — of — of  things  to  eat."  He  took  her  by 
the  arms,  and  looked  into  her  quaint,  wise  face. 
"And  I  was  so  glad  I  had  it,  darling,  for  you 
are  thinner  than  you  were."  He  paused  to 
bite  his  lip,  and  continued  haltingly,  "There 
was  bread  in  that  bundle — and  meat — real 
meat — and  sugar — and  tea." 


80         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

Virgie  released  herself  and  clapped  her 
hands. 

"Oh,  Daddjr,  where  is  it?"  she  asked  him 

happily,  once  more  reaching  for  the  pocket. 

'  'Cause  I'm  so  hungry  for  somethin'  good." 

"Don't!  Don't!"  he  cried,  as  he  drew  his 
coat  away,  roughly,  fiercely,  in  the  pain 
of  unselfish  suffering.  "For  God's  sake, 
don't!" 

"Why,  what  is  it,  Daddy,"  she  asked,  in 
her  shrillness  of  a  child's  alarm,  her  eyes  on 
the  widening  stain  of  red  above  his  waist.  "Is 
— is  it  hurtin'  you  again?  What  is  it,  Daddy- 
man?" 

"Your  bundle,"  he  answered,  in  the  flat, 
dull  tone  of  utter  hopelessness.  "I  lost  it, 
Virgie.  I  lost  it." 

"Oh,"  she  said,  with  a  quaver  of  disappoint- 
ment, which  she  vainly  strove  to  hide.  "How 
did  you  do  it?" 

For  a  moment  the  man  leaned  limply 
against  a  chair-back,  hiding  his  eyes  with  one 
trembling  hand;  then  he  spoke  in  shamed 
apology: 

"I — I   couldn't   help   it,   darling;   because, 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         81 

you  see,  I  hadn't  any  powder  left;  and  I  was 
coming  through  the  woods — just  as  I  told  you 
— when  the  Yanks  got  sight  of  me."  He 
smiled  down  at  her  bravely,  striving  to  add  a 
dash  of  comedy  to  his  tragic  plight.  "And  I 
tell  you,  Virgie,  your  old  dad  had  to  run  like 
a  turkey — wishing  to  the  Lord  he  had  wings, 
too." 

Virgie  did  not  smile  in  turn,  and  her  father 
dropped  back  into  his  former  tone,  his  pale 
lips  setting  in  a  straight,  hard  line. 

"And  then — the  blue  boy  I  was  telling  you 
about — when  he  shot  at  me,  I  must  have  stum- 
bled, because,  when  I  scrambled  up,  I — I 
couldn't  see  just  right;  so  I  ran  and  ran,  think- 
ing of  you,  darling,  and  wanting  to  get  to  you 
before — Well,  before  it  was  breakfast  time.  I 
had  your  bundle  in  my  pocket;  but  when  I 
fell — why,  Virgie,  don't  you  see? — I — I 
couldn't  go  back  and  find  it."  He  paused  to 
choke,  then  spoke  between  his  teeth,  in  fury 
at  a  strength  which  had  failed  to  breast  a  bar- 
rier of  fate:  "But  I  would  have  gone  back,  if 
I'd  had  any  powder  left.  I  would!  By  God, 
I  would  1" 


82         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

A  pitiful  apology  it  was,  from  a  man  to  a 
little  child;  a  story  told  only  in  its  hundredth 
part,  for  why  should  he  give  its  untold  horrors 
to  a  baby's  ears?  How  could  she  understand 
that  man-hunt  in  the  early  dawn?  The  fugi- 
tive— with  an  empty  pistol  on  his  hip — wading 
swamps  and  plunging  through  the  tangled 
underbrush;  alert  and  listening,  darting  from 
tree  to  tree  where  the  woods  were  thin ;  crouch- 
ing behind  some  fallen  log  to  catch  his  labor- 
ing breath,  then  rising  again  to  creep  along 
his  way.  He  did  not  tell  of  the  racking  pain 
in  his  weary  legs,  nor  the  protest  of  his  pound- 
ing heart — the  strain — the  agony — the  puffs 
of  smoke  that  floated  above  the  pines,  and  the 
ping  of  bullets  whining  through  the  trees.  He 
did  not  tell  of  the  ball  that  slid  along  his  ribs, 
leaving  a  fiery,  aching  memory  behind,  as  the 
man  crashed  down  a  clay  bank,  to  lie  for  an 
instant  in  a  crumpled  heap,  to  rise  and  stum- 
ble on — not  toward  the  haven  of  his  own  Con- 
federate lines,  but  forward,  to  where  a  baby 
waited — through  a  dancing  mist  of  red. 

And  so  the  soldier  made  his  poor  apology, 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         83 

turning  his  head  away  to  avoid  a  dreaded  look 
in  Virgie's  big,  reproachful  eyes;  then  he 
added  one  more  lashwelt  to  his  shame: 

"And  now  your  poor  old  daddy  is  no  more 
use  to  you.  I  come  to  my  little  girl  with 
empty  hands — with  an  empty  gun — and  an 
empty  heart!" 

He  said  it  bitterly,  in  the  self-accusing 
sorrow  of  his  soul;  and  his  courage,  which  had 
borne  him  through  a  hell  of  suffering,  now 
broke;  but  only  when  a  helper  of  the  helpless 
failed.  He  laid  his  outflung  arms  across  the 
table.  He  bowed  his  beaten  head  upon  them 
and  sobbed  aloud,  with  sobs  that  shook  him 
to  his  heels.  . 

It  was  then  that  Virgie  came  to  him  again, 
a  little  daughter  of  the  South,  who,  like  a  hun- 
dred thousand  of  her  sisters,  brought  comfort 
in  the  blackest  hours. 

One  tiny,  weak  arm  was  slipped  about  his 
neck.  One  tiny  brown  hand,  with  its  berry- 
stained  fingers,  was  run  through  his  tangled 
hair,  softly,  tenderly,  even  as  she  longed  to 
soothe  the  weary  head  of  General  Lee. 


84         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"Don't  cry,  Daddy-man,"  she  murmured  In 
his  ear;  "it's  all  right.  I  can  eat  the  black- 
berries. They — they  don't  taste  so  awful  good 
when  you  have  'em  all  the  time;  but  Z  don't 
mind."  She  paused  to  kiss  him,  then  tried 
once  more  to  buoy  his  hope  and  hers.  "We'll 
have  jus'  heaps  of  things  when  we  get  to  Rich- 
mon' — jus'  heaps — an'  then- 
She  stopped  abruptly,  lifting  her  head  and 
listening,  in  the  manner  of  a  sheep  dog  scent- 
ing danger  from  afar.  Her  father  looked  up 
sharply  and  gripped  her  hands. 

"Virgie!     You  hear — what?" 

"Horses!  Oh,  a  lot  of  'em!  On  the  big 
joad!" 

It  was  true,  for  down  the  breeze  came  the 
faintly  echoed  thud  of  many  hoofs  and  the 
clinking  jingle  of  sabers  against  the  riders' 
thighs.  Virgie  turned  back  from  the  open 
door. 

"Why — why,  they've  turned  into  our  road!" 
Her  breath  came  fast,  as  she  sank  her  voice 
to  a  faint,  awed  whisper,  "Daddy — do  you 
reckon  it's — Yankees?" 

"Yes,"  said  her  father,  who  had  risen  to 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         85 

his  feet.  "Morrison's  cavalry!  They  won't 
hurt  you;  but  I'll  have  to  get  to  the  woods 
again!  Good-by,  honey!  Good-by!" 

He  kissed  her  hurriedly  and  started  for  the 
door,  but  shrank  into  the  shadow  at  sight  of  a 
blue-clothed  watcher  sharply  outlined  on  the 
crest  of  a  distant  rise.  Escape  was  cut  off, 
and  the  hunted  soldier  turned  to  Virgie  in  his 
need. 

"Shut  the  door — quick!"  She  obeyed  in 
silence.  "Lock  it!"  She  turned  the  rusty 
key,  and  waited.  "Now  the  windows! 
Hurry,  but  do  it  quietly." 

She  closed  the  clumsy  shutters  and  set  the 
heavy  bars  into  their  slots ;  then  the  man  came 
forward,  knelt  down  before  her  and  took  her 
hands. 

"Listen,  Virginia,"  he  whispered  earnestly; 
"don't  you  remember  how  your  dear,  dear 
mother — and  I,  too,  darling — always  told  you 
never  to  tell  a  lie?" 

"An'  I  haven't,  Daddy-man,"  she  protested, 
wondering.  '  'Deed,  an'  'deed,  I  haven't. 
Why—" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  he  interrupted  hur- 


86         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

riedly;  "but  now — you  must!"  As  the  child 
stepped  backward  and  tried  to  draw  away,  he 
clasped  her  hands  more  tightly  still.  "But 
listen,  dear;  it's  to  save  me!  Don't  you  un- 
derstand?— and  it's  right!  When  those  men 
come,  they  mustn't  find  me.  Say  I  was  here, 
but  I've  gone.  If  they  ask  which  way,  tell 
them  I  went  down  past  the  spring — through 
the  blackberry  patch.  Do  you  understand? — 
and  can  you  remember?"  She  nodded 
gravely,  and  the  Southerner  folded  her  tightly 
in  his  arms.  "Be  a  brave  little  rebel,  honey 
— for  me!" 

He  released  her  and  began  to  mount  the  lad- 
der leading  to  the  scuttle  in  the  ceiling;  but 
halfway  up  he  paused,  as  Virgie  checked  him 
with  a  solemn  question: 

"Daddy — would  Gen'ral  Lee  want  me  to 
tell  that  lie?" 

"Yes,  dear,"  he  answered  slowly,  thought- 
fully; "this  once!  And,  if  ever  you  see  him, 
ask  him,  and  he'll  tell  you  so  himself.  God 
help  you,  darling;  it's  for  General  Lee — and 
you!" 

The  littlest  rebel  sighed,  as  though  a  weight 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         87 

had  been  lifted  from  her  mind,  and  she  cocked 
her  head  at  the  sound  of  louder  hoof-beats  on 
the  carriage  road. 

"All  right,  Daddy-man.     I'll  tell — a  whop- 
per!" 


THE  man  crawled  up  through  the  scuttle  hole 
and  disappeared;  then  drew  the  ladder  after 
him  and  closed  the  trap,  while  Virgie  tiptoed 
to  the  table  and  slipped  into  a  seat. 

The  cabin  was  now  in  semi-darkness,  except 
for  a  shaft  of  sunlight  entering  through  the 
jagged  wound  from  the  cannon-shot  above  the 
door;  and  it  fell  on  the  quaint,  brown  head  of 
little  Miss  Virginia  Gary,  and  the  placid  form 
*>f  Susan  Jemima,  perching  opposite,  in  serene 
contempt  of  the  coming  of  a  conquering  host. 

The  jingling  clank  of  sabers  grew  louder 
to  the  listeners'  ears,  through  the  rumble  of 
pounding  hoofs ;  a  bugle's  note  came  winnow- 
ing across  the  fields,  and  Virgie  leaned  for- 
ward with  a  confidential  whisper  to  her  doll: 

"Susan  Jemima,  I  wouldn't  tell  anybody 
else — no,  not  for  anything — but  I  cert'n'y  am 
awful  scared!" 

There  came  a  scurrying  rush,  a  command  to 

89 


89 

halt,  and  a  rustling,  scraping  noise  of  dis- 
mounting men;  a  pause,  and  the  sharp,  loud 
rap  of  a  saber  hilt  against  the  door.  Virgie 
breathed  hard,  but  made  no  answer. 

"Open  up!"  called  a  voice  outside,  but  the 
little  rebel  closed  her  lips  and  sat  staring  at 
Susan  Jemima  across  the  table.  A  silence 
followed,  short,  yet  filled  with  dread;  then 
came  a  low-toned  order  and  the  crash  of  car- 
bine butts  on  the  stout  oak  door.  For  a  time 
it  resisted  hopefully,  then  slowly  its  top  sagged 
in,  with  a  groaning,  grating  protest  from  its 
rusty  hinges ;  it  swayed,  collapsed  in  a  cloud  of 
dust — and  the  enemy  swept  over  it. 

They  came  with  a  rush ;  in  the  lead  an  officer, 
a  naked  saber  in  his  fist,  followed  by  a  squad 
of  grim-faced  troopers,  each  with  his  carbine 
cocked  and  ready  for  discharge.  Yet,  as  sud- 
denly as  they  had  come,  they  halted  now  at  the 
sight  of  a  little  lady,  seated  at  table,  eating 
berries,  as  calmly  as  though  the  dogs  of  war 
had  never  even  growled. 

A  wondering  silence  followed,  till  broken 
by  a  piping  voice,  in  grave  but  courteous  re- 
proof,; 


90         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"I — I  don't  think  you  are  very  polite." 

The  officer  in  command  was  forced  to  smile. 

"I'm  sorry,  my  dear,"  he  apologized;  "but 
am  afraid,  this  time,  I  can't  quite  help  it." 
He  glanced  at  the  door  of  the  adjoining  room 
and  turned  to  his  waiting  men,  though  speak- 
ing in  an  undertone:  "He's  in  there,  I  guess. 
Don't  fire  if  you  can  help  it — on  account  of 
the  baby.  Now  thenl  Steady,  boys!  Ad- 
vance!" 

He  led  the  way,  six  troopers  following, 
while  the  rest  remained  behind  to  guard  the 
cabin's  open  door.  Virgie  slowly  turned  her 
head,  with  eyes  that  watched  the  officer's  every 
move;  then  presently  she  called: 

"Hey,  there!  That's  my  room — an'  don't 
you-all  bother  any  of  my  things,  either !" 

This  one  command,  at  least,  was  implicitly 
obeyed,  for  in  a  moment  the  disappointed 
squad  returned.  The  carbine  butts  were 
grounded ;  the  troopers  stood  at  orderly  atten- 
tion, while  their  officer  stepped  toward  the 
table. 

"What's  your  name,  little  monkey?" 

Virgie  raised  her  eyes  in  swift  reproach. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         91 

"I  don't  like  to  be  called  a  monkey.  It — 
it  isn't  respectful." 

The  Union  soldier  laughed. 

"O-ho!  I  see."  He  touched  his  hat  and 
made  her  a  sweeping  bow.  "A  thousand  par- 
dons, Mademoiselle."  He  shot  his  sword  into 
its  scabbard,  and  laughed  again.  "Might  I 
inquire  as  to  what  you  are  called  by  your — er 
— justly  respectful  relatives  and  friends?" 

"Virgie,"  she  answered  simply. 

"Ah,"  he  approved,  "and  a  very  pretty 
name!  Virgie  what?" 

"My  whole  name  is  Miss  Virginia  Houston 
Gary." 

The  soldier  started,  glanced  at  his  troopers, 
then  back  to  the  child  again: 

"Is  Herbert  Gary  your  father?" 

He  waited  for  her  answer,  and  got  it, 
straight  from  a  baby's  shoulder: 

" Mister  Herbert  Gary  is — yes,  sir." 

The  enemy  smiled  and  made  her  another 
bow. 

"I  stand  corrected.  Where  is  your  father 
now?" 

Virgie  hesitated. 


92         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"I— I  don't  know." 

The  voice  of  her  inquisitor  took  on  a  sterner 
tone: 

"Is  he  here? — hiding  somewhere?  Tell 
me  I" 

Her  little  heart  was  pounding,  horribly,  and 
the  hot  blood  came  into  her  cheeks;  but  she 
looked  him  squarely  in  the  face,  and  lied — 
for  General  Lee : 

"No,  sir.  Daddy  was  here — but  he's  gone 
away." 

The  enemy  was  looking  at  her,  intently,  and 
his  handsome,  piercing  eyes  grew  most  un- 
comfortable. She  hung  for  an  instant  be- 
tween success  and  sobbing  failure,  till  a  bubble 
from  Mother  Eve  rose  up  in  her  youthful 
blood  and  burst  into  a  spray  of  perfect,  femi- 
nine deceit.  She  did  not  try  to  add  to  her 
simple  statement,  but  began  to  eat  her  berries, 
calmly,  as  though  the  subject  were  completely 
closed. 

"Which  way  did  he  go?"  the  officer  de- 
manded, and  she  pointed  with  her  spoon. 

"Down  by  the  spring — through  the  black- 
berry patch," 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL        93 

The  soldier  was  half -convinced.  He  stood 
for  a  moment,  looking  at  the  floor,  then  asked 
her  sharply,  suddenly: 

"If  your  father  had  gone,  then  why  did  you 
lock  that  door?" 

She  faltered,  but  only  for  an  instant. 

"  'Cause  I  thought  you  might  be — niggers" 

The  man  before  her  clenched  his  hands,  as 
he  thought  of  that  new-born,  hideous  danger 
menacing  the  South. 

"I  see,"  he  answered  gently;  "yes,  I  see'" 
He  turned  away,  but,  even  as  he  turned,  his 
eye  was  caught  by  the  double-doored  cupboard 
against  the  wall.  "What  do  you  keep  in 
there?"  he  asked;  and  the  child  smiled  faintly, 
a  trifle  sadly,  in  reply: 

"We  used  to  keep  things  to  eat — when  we 
had  any." 

He  noted  her  mild  evasion,  and  pushed  the 
point. 

"What  is  in  it  now?" 

"Tin  pans." 

"Anything  else?" 

"Er— yes,  sir." 

He  caught  his  breath  and  stepped  a  little 


nearer,  bending  till  his  face  was  close  to 
hers. 

"What?" 

"Colonel  Mosby,"  declared  the  mite,  with  a 
most  emphatic  nod;  "an'  you  better  look  out,, 
too!" 

The  officer  laughed  as  he  turned  to  his  grin- 
ning squad. 

"Bright  little  youngster !  Still,  I  think  we'll 
have  a  look."  He  dropped  his  air  of  amuse- 
ment, growing  stern  again.  "Now,  men! 
Ready!" 

They  swung  into  line  and  faced  the  cup- 
board, the  muzzles  of  their  carbines  trained 
upon  it,  while  their  leader  advanced,  swung 
open  the  doors,  and  quickly  stepped  aside. 

On  the  bottom  shelf,  as  Virgie  had  declared, 
were  a  few  disconsolate  tin  pans;  yet  tacked 
to  the  door  was  a  picture  print  of  Mosby — that 
dreaded  guerrilla  whose  very  name  was  a  buga- 
boo in  the  Union  lines. 

The  littlest  rebel  flung  back  her  head  and 
laughed. 

"My,  but  you  looked  funny!"  she  cried  to 
the  somewhat  disconcerted  officer,  pointing  at 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         95 

him  with  her  spoon.  "If  a  mouse  had  jumped 
out,  I  reckon  it  would  have  scared  you  mos'  to 
death." 

The  officer's  cheeks  flushed  red,  in  spite  of 
his  every  effort  at  control ;  nor  was  he  assisted 
by  the  knowledge  that  his  men  were  tittering 
behind  his  back.  He  turned  upon  them 
sharply. 

"That  will  do,"  he  said,  and  gave  a  brusque 
command:  "Corporal,  deploy  your  men  and 
make  a  thorough  search  outside.  Examine 
the  ground  around  the  spring — and  report!" 

"Yes,  sir,"  returned  Corporal  Dudley  salut- 
ing and  dropping  his  hand  across  his  mouth 
to  choke  off  an  exclamation  of  anger.  Then 
he  snarled  at  his  men,  to  ease  the  pain  of 
thwarted  vengeance :  "  'Tention!  Right  face! 
Forward!  March!3' 

The  squad  trooped  out  across  the  broken 
door,  leaving  their  commanding  officer  alone 
with  his  rebel  prisoner. 

"Now,  Virgie,"  he  asked,  in  a  kindly  tone, 
though  holding  her  eyes  with  his,  "do  you  mean 
to  tell  me — cross  your  heart — that  you  are 
here,  just  by  yourself?" 


96         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"Er — no,  sir."  As  he  opened  his  lips  to 
speak,  she  pointed  to  her  doll.  "Me  an'  Susan 
Jemima." 

"Well,  that's  a  fact,"  he  laughed.  "Hanged 
'if  I'm  not  losing  all  my  social  polish."  He 
gallantly  removed  his  hat,  bowed  gravely  to 
the  cedar  stick,  and  shook  its  hand.  "Charmed 
to  make  your  acquaintance,  Miss  Susan,  be- 
lieve me.  My  own  name  is  Morrison — Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel Morrison — at  your  service." 
He  turned  to  the  little  mother  with  a  smile  that 
showed  a  row  of  white  and  even  teeth.  "And 
now,"  he  said,  "since  we  are  all  informally  in- 
troduced, suppose  we  have  a  quiet,  comforta- 
ble chat."  He  paused,  but  she  made  no  an- 
swer. "Well?  Aren't  you  going  to  ask  me 
to  have  some  breakfast?" 

Virgie  cast  a  troubled  gaze  into  the  plate 
before  her. 

"Er— no,  sir." 

"What?     Why  not?" 

She  faltered,  and  answered  slowly: 

*  'Cause — 'cause  you're  one  of  the  damn 
Yankees." 

"Oh!  oh!  oh!"  exclaimed  the  soldier,  shocked 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL         97 

to  hear  a  baby's  lips  profaned.  "Little  girls 
shouldn't  use  such  words.  Why,  Virgie!" 

She  raised  her  eyes,  clear,  fearless,  filled  with 
vindicating  innocence. 

"Well,  it's  your  name,  isn't  it?  Everybody 
calls  you  that." 

"Um — yes,"  he  admitted,  striving  to  check 
the  twitching  of  his  lips;  "I  suppose  they  do — 
south  of  Washington.  But  don't  you  know 
we  are  just  like  other  people?"  She  shook  her 
head.  "Oh,  yes,  we  are.  Why,  I  have  a  little 
girl  at  home — not  any  bigger  than  you." 

"Have  you?"  asked  Virgie,  her  budding 
racial  prejudice  at  war  with  youthful  curiosity. 
"What's  her  name?" 

"Gertrude,"  he  answered  softly,  tenderly. 
"Gertrude  Morrison.  Would  you  like  to  see 
her  picture?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  little  rebel,  and  stepped 
across  the  gulf  which  had  lain  between  her  and 
her  enemy.  "You  can  sit  down  if  you  want 
to.  Jus'  put  Susan  Jemima  on  the  table." 

"Thank  you,"  returned  her  visitor,  obeying 
instructions,  seating  himself  and  loosening  the 
upper  buttons  of  his  coat.  On  his  neck,  sus- 


98         THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

pended  by  a  chain,  was  a  silver  locket  contain- 
ing the  miniature  of  a  plump  and  pretty  child. 
It  had  lain  there  since  the  war  began,  through 
many  a  bivouac,  many  a  weary  march,  and 
even  in  the  charge  he  could  feel  it  tapping 
against  his  breast;  so  now,  as  he  held  it  out  to 
Virgie,  the  father's  hand  was  trembling. 

"There  she  is.  My  Gertrude — my  little 
Gertrude." 

Virgie  leaned  forward  eagerly. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  in  unaffected  admiration. 
"She's  mighty  pretty.  She's—"  The  child 
stopped  suddenly,  and  raised  her  eyes.  "An' 
she's  fat,  too.  I  reckon  Gertrude  gets  lots 
to  eat,  doesn't  she?" 

"Why,  yes,"  agreed  the  father,  thinking  of 
his  comfortable  Northern  home;  "of  course. 
Don't  you?" 

Virgie  weighed  the  question  thoughtfully 
before  she  spoke. 

"Sometimes — when  Daddy  gets  through  the 
lines  and  brings  it  to  me." 

The  soldier  started  violently,  wrenched  back 
from  the  selfish  dream  of  happiness  that  rose 
as  he  looked  at  the  picture  of  his  child. 


99 

"What!     Is  that  why  your  father  comes?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Good  God!" 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  turned  away,  his 
thoughts  atumble,  a  pang  of  parental  pity 
gnawing  at  his  heart;  then  he  wheeled  and 
faced  her,  asking,  with  a  break  in  his  husky 
voice : 

"And  at  other  times — what  do  you  eat, 
then?" 

She  made  a  quaint,  depreciating  gesture  to- 
ward the  appointments  of  her  breakfast  table. 

"Blackberries — an' — an'  coffee  made  out  of 
aco'ns." 

Again  the  troubled  conqueror  turned  away. 

"Oh,  it's  a  shame!"  he  muttered  between  his 
teeth.  "A  hellish  shame  I" 

He  stood  for  a  moment,  silently,  till  Virgie 
spoke  and  jarred  him  with  another  confidence. 

"My  cousin  Norris  told  me  that  the  Yankees 
have  bread  every  day;  an'  tea — an'  milk — an' 
everything.  An3  butter!" 

This  last-named  article  of  common  diet  was 
mentioned  with  an  air  of  reverential  awe ;  and, 
somehow,  it  hurt  the  well-fed  Union  officer  far 


100       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

more  than  had  she  made  some  direct  accusation 
against  the  invading  armies  of  the  North. 

"Don't,  Virgie — please,"  he  murmured 
softly.  "There  are  some  things  we  just  can't 
bear  to  listen  to — even  in  times  of  war."  He 
sighed  and  dropped  into  his  former  seat,  striv- 
ing gently  to  change  the  subject.  "You  have 
lived  here — always?" 

"Oh,  no,"  she  assured  him,  with  a  lift  of  her 
small,  patrician  brows.  "This  is  the  overseer's 
house.  Our  house  used  to  be  up  on  the  hill, 
in  the  grove." 

"Used  to  be—?" 

"Yes,  sir.  But — but  the  Yankees  burnt  it 
up." 

Morrison's  fist  came  down  on  the  table  with 
a  crash.  He  remembered  now  his  raid  of  some 
months  before  upon  this. same  plantation,  so 
unfamiliar  in  its  present  neglected  state. 
Again  he  looked  into  the  fearless  eyes  of  a 
Southern  gentlewoman  who  mocked  him  while 
her  lover  husband  swam  the  river  and  escaped. 
Again  he  saw  the  mansion  wrapped  in  flame 
and  smoke — the  work  of  a  drunken  fiend  in 
his  own  command.  Yes,  he  remembered  now; 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       101 

too  well ;  then  he  turned  to  the  child  and  spoke : 

"Tell  me  about  it.     Won't  you?" 

She  nodded,  wriggled  from  her  chair,  and 
I  stood  beside  the  table. 

"Oh,  it  was  a  long  time  ago — a  month, 
maybe — an'  they  came  after  our  horses. 
Mamma  an'  me  were  all  by  ourselves — 'ceptin' 
Uncle  Billy  and  Sally  Ann.  An'  we  were 
dreadful  scared — an'  we  hid  in  the  ice  house." 

She  paused.  Her  listener  had  leaned  his 
elbow  on  the  table,  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  dear.     Go  on." 

The  child  had  been  standing  opposite,  with 
Susan  Jemima  and  the  acorn-coffee  pot  be- 
tween them;  but  gradually  she  began  to  edge 
a  little  nearer,  till  presently  she  stood  beside 
him,  fingering  a  shiny  button  on  his  coat. 

"An'  the  blue  boys  ate  up  everything  we 
had — an'  took  our  corn.  An'  when  they  went 
away  from  our  house,  they — a  man  set  it  on 
jfire.  But  another  man  got  real  mad  with  him, 
an' — an'  shot  him.  I  know,  'cause  Uncle 
Billy  put  him  in  the  ground."  She  paused, 
then  sank  her  voice  to  a  whisper  of  mysterious 
dread,  "An' — an'  I  saw  him!" 


102       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"Don't  think  about  it,  Virgie,"  begged  Mor- 
rison, slipping  his  arm  about  the  mite,  and  try- 
ing not  to  put  his  own  beloved  ones  in  the  little 
rebel's  place.  "What  happened  then?" 

"We  came  to  live  here,"  said  Virgie;  "but 
Mamma  got  sick.  Oh,  she  got  terrible  sick — 
an'  one  night  Daddy  came  through,  and  put 
her  in  the  ground,  too.  But  he  says  she's  jus' 
asleep." 

The  soldier  started.  Mrs.  Gary  dead? 
This  poor  tot  motherless?  He  drew  the  baby 
closer  to  him,  stroking  her  hair,  as  her  sleeping 
mother  might  have  done,  and  waited  for  the  rest. 

"An'  las'  Friday,  Sally  Ann  went  away — I 
don't  know  where — an' — " 

"What?"  asked  Morrison.  "She  left  you 
here — all  by  yourself?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  child,  with  a  careless 
laugh.  "But  /  don't  mind.  Sally  Ann  was 
a  triflin'  nigger,  anyhow.  You  see — " 

"Wait  a  minute,"  he  interrupted,  "what  be- 
came of  the  old  colored  man  who — " 

"Uncle  Billy?  Yes,  sir.  We  sent  him  up 
to  Richmond — to  get  some  things,  but  he  can't 
come  back — the  Yankees  won't  let  him." 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       103 

"Won't  they?" 

"No,  sir.  An'  Daddy's  been  tryin'  to  get 
me  up  to  Richmon',  where  my  Aunt  Margaret 
lives  at,  but  he  can't — 'cause  the  Yankees  are 
up  the  river  an'  down  the  river,  an' — an'  every- 
where— an'  he  can't."  She  paused,  as  Mor- 
rison turned  to  her  from  his  restless  pacing  up 
and  down.  "My,  but  you've  got  fine  clo'es! 
Daddy's  clo'es  are  all  rags — with — with  holes 
in  'em." 

He  could  not  answer.  There  was  nothing 
for  him  to  say,  and  Virgie  scorched  him  with 
another  question: 

"What  did  you  come  after  Daddy  for?" 

"Oh,  not  because  I  wanted  to,  little  girl," 
he  burst  out  harshly.  "But  you  wouldn't  un- 
derstand." He  had  turned  away,  and  was 
gazing  through  the  open  door,  listening  to  the 
muttered  wrath  of  the  big  black  guns  far  down 
jthe  river.  "It's  war!  One  of  the  hateful, 
pitiful  things  of  war!  I  came  because  I  had 
my  orders." 

"From  your  Gen'ral?" 

He  lowered  his  chin,  regarding  her  in  mild 
astonishment. 


104       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"Yes— my  General." 

"An*  do  you  love  him — like  I  love  Gen'ral 
Lee?" 

"Yes,  dear,"  he  answered  earnestly;  "of 
course." 

He  wondered  again  to  see  her  turn  away  in 
sober  thought,  tracing  lines  on  the  dusty  floor 
with  one  small  brown  toe;  for  the  child  was 
wrestling  with  a  problem.  If  a  soldier  had 
orders  from  his  general,  as  she  herself  might 
put  it,  "he  was  bound  to  come" ;  but  still  it  was 
hard  to  reconcile  such  duty  with  the  capture  of 
her  father.  Therefore,  she  raised  her  tiny  chin 
and  resorted  to  tactics  of  a  purely  personal 
nature: 

"An*  didn't  you  know,  if  you  hurt  my 
daddy,  I'd  tell  Uncle  Fitz  Lee  on  you?" 

"No,"  the  Yankee  smiled.  "Is  he  your 
uncle?" 

The  littlest  rebel  regarded  him  with  a  look 
of  positive  pity  for  his  ignorance. 

"He's  everybody's  uncle,"  she  stated 
warmly.  "An'  if  I  was  to  tell  him,  he'd  come 
right  after  you  an' — an'  lick  the  stuffins  out 
of  you." 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       105 

The  soldier  laughed. 

"My  dear,"  he  confided,  with  a  dancing 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  "to  tell  you  the  honest  truth, 
your  Uncle  Fitz  has  done  it  already — several 
times." 

"Has  he?"  she  cried,  in  rapturous  delight. 
"Oh,  has  he?" 

"He  has,"  the  enemy  repeated,  with  vigor 
and  conviction.  "But  suppose  we  shift  our 
conversation  to  matters  a  shade  more  pleasant. 
Take  you,  for  instance.  You  see — "  He 
stopped  abruptly,  turning  his  head  and  listen- 
ing with  keen  intentness.  "What's  that?"  he 
asked. 

"I  didn't  hear  anything,"  said  Virgie,  breath- 
ing very  fast;  but  she  too  had  heard  it — a 
sound  above  them,  a  scraping  sound,  as  of 
someone  lying  flat  along  the  rafters  and  shift- 
ing his  position;  and,  while  she  spoke,  a  tell- 
tale bit  of  plaster  fell,  and  broke  as  it  struck 
)  the  floor. 

Morrison  looked  up,  starting  as  he  saw  the 
outlines  of  the  closely  fitting  scuttle,  for  the 
loft  was  so  low  and  shallow  that  he  had  not 
suspected  its  presence  from  an  outside  view; 


106       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

but  now  he  was  certain  of  the  fugitive's  hiding- 
place.  Virgie  watched  him,  trembling,  grow- 
ing hot  in  the  pit  of  her  little  stomach;  yet, 
when  he  faced  her,  she  looked  him  squarely  in 
the  eye,  fighting  one  last  battle  for  her  daddy 
— as  hopeless  as  the  tottering  cause  of  the 
Stars  and  Bars. 

"You — you  don't  think  he  can  fly,  do 
you?" 

"No,  little  Rebel,"  the  soldier  answered 
gently,  sadly;  "but  there  are  other  ways." 
He  glanced  at  the  table,  measuring  its  height 
with  the  pitch  of  the  ceiling,  then  turned  to  her 
again:  "Is  your  father  in  that  loft?"  She 
made  no  answer,  but  began  to  back  away. 
"Tell  me  the  truth.  Look  at  me!"  Still  no 
answer,  and  he  took  a  step  toward  her,  speak- 
ing sternly:  "Do  you  hear  me?  Look  at 
me!" 

She  tried;  but  her  courage  was  oozing  fast. 
She  had  done  her  best,  but  now  it  was  more 
than  the  mite  could  stand;  so  she  bit  her  lip 
to  stop  its  quivering,  and  turned  her  head 
away.  For  a  moment  the  man  stood,  silent, 
wondering  if  it  was  possible  that  the  child  had 
been  coached  in  a  string  of  lies  to  trade  upon 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       107 

his  tenderness  of  heart;  then  he  spoke,  in  a 
voice  of  mingled  pity  and  reproach : 

"And  so  you  told  me  a  story.  And  all  the 
rest — is  a  story,  too.  Oh,  Virgie!  Virgie!" 

"I  didn't!"  she  cried,  the  big  tears  breaking 
out  at  last.  "I  didn't  tell  you  stories!  Only 
jus'  a  little  one — for  Daddy — an'  Gen'ral 
Lee." 

She  was  sobbing  now,  and  the  man  looked 
down  upon  her  in  genuine  compassion,  his  own 
eyes  swimming  at  her  childish  grief,  his  soldier 
heart  athrob  and  aching  at  the  duty  he  must 
perform. 

"I'm  sorry,  dear,"  he  sighed,  removing  her 
doll  and  dragging  the  table  across  the  floor 
to  a  point  directly  beneath  the  scuttle  in  the 
ceiling. 

"What  are  you  go  in'  to  do?"  she  asked  in 
terror,  following  as  he  moved.  "Oh,  what  are 
you  goin'  to  do?" 

He  did  not  reply.  He  could  not ;  but  when 
he  placed  a  chair  upon  the  table  and  prepared 
to  mount,  then  Virgie  understood. 

"You  shan't!  You  shan't!"  she  cried  out 
shrilly.  "He's  my  daddy — and  you  shan't." 


108       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

She  pulled  at  the  table,  and  when  he  would 
have  put  her  aside,  as  gently  as  he  could,  she 
attacked  him  fiercely,  in  a  childish  storm  of 
passion,  sobbing,  striking  at  him  with  her 
puny  fists.  The  soldier  bowed  his  head  and 
moved  away. 

"Oh,  I  can't!  I  can't!"  he  breathed,  in  con- 
science-stricken pain.  "There  must  be  some 
other  way ;  and  still — " 

He  stood  irresolute,  gazing  through  the 
open  door,  watching  his  men  as  they  hunted 
for  a  fellow  man;  listening  to  the  sounds  that 
floated  across  the  stricken  fields — the  calls  of 
his  troopers;  the  locusts  in  the  sun-parched 
woods  chanting  their  shrill,  harsh  litany  of 
drought;  but  more  insistent  still  came  the 
muffled  boom  of  the  big  black  guns  far  down 
the  muddy  James.  They  called  to  him,  these 
guns,  in  the  hoarse-tongued  majesty  of  war, 
bidding  him  forget  himself,  his  love,  his  pity — 
all  else,  but  the  grim  command  to  a  marching 
host — a  host  that  must  reach  its  goal,  though 
it  marched  on  a  road  of  human  hearts. 

The  soldier  set  his  teeth  and  turned  to  the 
little  rebel,  deciding  on  his  course  of  action; 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       109 

best  for  her,  best  for  the  man  who  lay  in  the 
loft  above,  though  now  it  must  seem  a  brutal 
cruelty  to  both. 

"Well,  Virgie,"  he  said,  "since  you  haven't 
told  me  what  I  want  to  know,  I'll  have  to  take 
you — and  give  you  to  the  Yankees." 

He  stepped  toward  her  swiftly  and  caught 
her  by  the  wrist.  She  screamed  in  terror,  fight- 
ing to  break  his  hold,  while  the  trap  above 
them  opened,  and  the  head  and  shoulders  of 
the  Southerner  appeared,  his  pistol  held  in  his 
outstretched  hand. 

"Drop  it,  you  hound!"  he  ordered  fiercely. 
"Drop  it!" 

The  Northerner  released  his  captive,  but 
stood  unmoved  as  he  looked  into  the  pistol's 
muzzle  and  the  blazing  eyes  of  the  cornered 
scout. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  in  quiet  dignity.  "I'm 
very  sorry ;  but  I  had  to  bring  you  out."  He 
paused,  then  spoke  again:  "And  you  needn't 
bother  about  your  gun.  If  you'd  had  any 
ammunition,  our  fire  would  have  been  re- 
turned, back  yonder  in  the  woods.  The 
game's  up,  Gary.  Come  down!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  head  and  shoulders  disappeared.  A 
short  pause  followed,  then  the  ladder  came 
slowly  down,  and  the  Southerner  descended, 
while  Virgie  crouched,  a  sobbing  little  heap, 
beside  her  doll.  But  when  he  reached  the  bot- 
tom rung,  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  ran  to  meet 
him,  weeping  bitterly. 

"Oh,  Daddy,  Daddy,  I  didn't  do  it  right! 
I  didn't  doit  right!" 

She  buried  her  head  in  his  tattered  coat, 
while  he  slipped  an  arm  about  her  and  tried 
to  soothe  a  sorrow  too  great  for  such  a  tiny 
heart  to  bear. 

"But  you  did  do  it  right,"  he  told  her.  "It 
was  my  fault.  Mine!  My  leg  got  cramped, 
and  I  had  to  move."  He  stooped  and  kissed 
her.  "It  was  my  fault,  honey;  but  you? — 
you  did  it  splendidly!"  He  patted  her  tear- 
stained  cheek,  then  turned  to  his  captor,  with 

a  grim,  hard  smile  of  resignation  to  his  fate. 

no 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       111 

"Well,  Colonel,  you've  had  a  long  chase  of  it; 
but  you've  gotten  my  brush  at  last." 

The  Union  soldier  faced  him,  speaking 
earnestly : 

"Captain  Gary,  you're  a  brave  man — and 
one  of  the  best  scouts  in  the  Confederate  army. 
I  regret  this  happening — more  than  I  can 
say."  The  Southerner  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
His  Northern  captor  asked :  "Are  you  carry- 
ing dispatches?" 

"No." 

"Any  other  papers? — of  any  kind?"  No 
answer  came,  and  he  added  sternly:  "It 
is  quite  useless  to  refuse.  Give  them  to 
me." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  but  his  captive  only 
looked  him  in  the  eyes ;  and  the  answer,  though 
spoken  in  an  undertone,  held  a  world  of  quiet 
meaning : 

"You  can  take  it — afterwards." 

The  Federal  officer  bit  his  lip;  and  yet  he 
could  not,  would  not,  be  denied.  His  request 
became  demand,  backed  by  authority  and  the 
right  of  might,  till  Virgie  broke  in,  in  a  piping 
voice  of  indignation: 


112       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"You  can't  have  it!  It's  mine!  My  pass 
to  Richmon' — from  Gen'ral  Lee." 

Morrison  turned  slowly  from  the  little  rebel 
to  the  man. 

"Is  this  true?"  he  asked. 

The  Southerner  flushed,  and  for  reply  pro- 
duced the  rumpled  paper  from  his  boot  leg, 
and  handed  it  over  without  a  word.  The 
Northerner  read  it  carefully. 

"Pass  Virginia  Gary  and  escort  through  all  Confed- 
erate lines  and  give  safe-conduct  wherever  possible. 

"R.  E.  LEE,  General." 

The  reader  crushed  the  paper  in  his  fist, 
while  his  hand  sank  slowly  to  his  side,  then  he 
raised  his  head  and  asked,  in  a  voice  which 
was  strangely  out  of  keeping  with  a  Lieuten- 
ant-Colonel of  the  Union  Cavalry : 

"And  who  was  to  be  her  escort?     You?" 

The  captive  nodded,  smiling  his  sad,  grim 
smile;  and  the  captor  swallowed  hard  as  he 
moved  to  the  cabin  door  and  stood  listening 
to  the  muttered  rumble  of  the  river  guns. 

"I'm  sorry,  Cary,"  he  whispered  brokenly; 
"more  sorry  than  you  can  understand." 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       113 

For  a  long  time  no  one  spoke,  then  the 
Southerner  went  to  Virgie,  dropping  his  hand 
in  tenderness  on  her  tumbled  hair. 

"Just  go  into  your  room,  honey;  I  want  to 
talk  to  Colonel  Morrison."  She  looked  up  at 
him  doubtfully;  but  he  added,  with  a  reassur- 
ing smile :  "It's  all  right,  darling.  I'll  call  you 
in  just  a  minute." 

Still  Virgie  seemed  to  hesitate.  She  shifted 
her  doubting  eyes  toward  the  TJnion  officer, 
turned,  and  obeyed  in  silence,  closing  the  door 
of  the  adjoining  room  behind  her.  Then  the 
two  men  faced  each  other,  without  the  hamper- 
ing presence  of  the  child,  each  conscious  of 
the  coming  tragedy  that  both,  till  now,  had 
striven  manfully  to  hide.  The  one  moved 
forward  toward  a  seat,  staggering  as  he 
walked,  and  catching  himself  on  the  table's 
edge,  while  the  other's  hand  went  out  to  lend 
him  aid;  but  the  Southerner  waved  him 
off. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  as  he  sank  into  a 
chair.  "I  don't  want  help — from  you!" 

"Why  not?"  asked  Morrison. 

"Because,"  said  Gary,  in  sullen  anger,  "I 


114       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

don't  ask  quarter,  nor  aid,  from  a  man  who 
frightens  children." 

The  Northerner's  chin  went  up*  and  when 
he  replied  his  voice  was  trembling;  not  in  pas- 
sion, but  with  a  deeper,  finer  something  which 
had  gripped  his  admiration  for  the  courage 
of  a  child : 

"And  I  wouldn't  hurt  a  hair  of  her  splendid 
little  head!"  He  paused,  then  spoke  again, 
more  calmly:  "You  thought  me  a  beast  to 
frighten  her;  but  don't  you  know  it  was  the 
only  thing  to  do?  Otherwise  my  men  might 
have  had  to  shoot  you — before  her  eyes." 
Gary  made  no  answer,  though  now  he  under- 
stood; and  Morrison  went  on:  "It  isn't  easy 
for  me  to  track  a  fellow  creature  down ;  to  take 
him  when  he's  wounded,  practically  unarmed, 
and  turn  him  over  to  a  firing  squad.  But  it's 
war,  my  friend — one  of  the  merciless  realities 
of  war — and  you  ought  to  know  the  meaning 
of  its  name." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  returned  the  Southerner, 
with  all  the  pent-up  bitterness  of  a  hopeless 
struggle  and  defeat;  "it  has  taken  three  years 
to  teach  me — and  I  know!  Look  at  me!"  he 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       115 

cried,  as  he  stood  up  in  his  rags  and  spread 
his  arms.  "Look  at  my  country,  swept  as 
bare  as  a  stubble  field!  You've  whipped  us, 
maybe,  with  your  millions  of  money  and  your 
endless  men,  and  now  you  are  warring  with 
the  women  and  the  children!"  He  turned  his 
back  and  spoke  in  the  deep  intensity  of  scorn: 
"A  fine  thing,  Colonel!  And  may  you  get 
your  reward — in  hell!" 

The  Northerner  set  his  lips  in  a  thin,  cold 
line;  but  curbed  his  wrath  and  answered  the 
accusation  quietly: 

"There  are  two  sides  to  the  question,  Gary; 
but  there  must  be  one  flag!" 

"Then  fly  your  flag  in  justice!"  the  South- 
erner retorted  hotly,  wheeling  on  his  enemy, 
with  blazing  eyes  and  with  hands  that  shook  in 
the  stress  of  passion.  "A  while  ago  you  called 
me  a  brave  man  and  a  good  scout ;  and,  because 
.I'm  both,  your  people  have  set  a  price  on  me. 
/Five  hundred  dollars — alive  or  dead!"  He 
laughed ;  a  hoarse,  harsh  travesty  of  mirth,  and 
added,  with  a  lip  that  curled  in  withering 
contempt:  "Alive  or  dead!  A  gentleman 
and  a  scout! — for  just  half  the  price  of  one 


116       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

good,  sound  nigger!  By  Godf  it  makes  me 
proud !" 

Lieutenant- Colonel  Morrison  looked  across 
the  table  at  his  prisoner,  and  answered  gravely, 
yet  with  a  touch  of  sternness  in  his  military 
tone: 

"You  are  more  than  a  scout,  Gary.  You've 
carried  dispatches,  and  intercepted  ours;  for 
both  of  which,  if  taken,  you  would  have  been 
a  prisoner  of  war,  no  more.  But  you've  en- 
tered our  lines — not  in  a  uniform  of  gray,  but 
blue — and  you've  cost  us  the  loss  of  two  im- 
portant battles." 

"And  had  you  done  the  same,"  returned  the 
Southerner,  "for  you  it  would  have  meant  pro- 
motion. I've  served  my  cause  as  best  I  could; 
in  the  saddle  or  the  rifle  pit;  in  the  woods,  or 
creeping  through  your  lines.  If  I've  cost  you 
a  battle,  my  life  is  a  puny  price  to  pay,  and 
I'd  pay  it  without  a  sigh."  He  paused  and 
sank  into  his  seat.  "For  myself,  I  don't  care 
much.  I'm  worn  out,  anyway;  and  I  only 
wanted  to  get  my  little  girl  to  Richmond." 
At  the  thought  of  Virgie  his  anger  returned 
to  him,  and  he  once  more  staggered  to  his  feet. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       117. 

"But  you,"  he  accused,  "y°u've  beaten  a  baby 
by  the  force  of  arms !  You've  run  me  to  earth 
— and  you've  blocked  her  chance!  It's  Vir- 
gie  you  are  fighting  now — not  me — yes,  just 
as  if  you  rode  her  down  with  a  troop  of  horse ! 
A  fine  thing,  Colonel!  For  you,  a  brevet! 
For  me,  a  firing  squad!  Well,  call  in  your 
men  and  get  it  over!"  Again  he  smiled;  a 
grim,  slow  smile  of  bitterness  and  scorn. 
"Bravo,  Colonel  Morrison!  Bravo!  You 
add  one  other  glory  to  your  conquering  sword 
— and,  besides,  you'll  receive  five  hundred  dol- 
lars in  reward!" 

The  Northerner  turned  upon  him  fiercely, 
goaded  at  last  to  the  breaking-point  in  a  strug- 
gle as  black  and  awful  as  the  struggle  of  his 
brother-foe. 

"Stop  it,  man!"  he  cried.  "For  God's  sake, 
stop!  It's  duty! — not  a  miserable  reward!" 
His  cheeks  were  flaming ;  his  muscles  quivered, 
and  his  fists  were  clenched.  "Do  you  sup- 
pose," he  asked,  "that  I'm  proud  of  this?  Do 
you  think  I'm  wringing  blood  out  of  your 
heart  and  mine — for  money?  Damn  you  for 
thinking  it!" 


118       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

They  faced  each  other,  two  crouching, 
snarling  animals,  the  raw,  primeval  passions 
of  their  hearts  released,  each  seeing  through 
a  mist  of  red;  a  mist  that  had  risen  up  to  roll 
across  a  mighty  land  and  plunge  its  nohlest 
sons  into  a  bloody  ruck  of  war. 

They  faced  each  other,  silently ;  then  slowly 
the  features  of  the  Southerner  relaxed.  His 
bitterness  was  laid  aside.  He  spoke,  in  the 
soft,  slow  accent  of  his  people — an  accent  so 
impossible  to  a  trick  of  print  or  pen. 

"I'm  glad  you  feel  that  way;  and  maybe, 
after  all,  you're  doing  what  you  think  is  right. 
Yes — and  I  know  it's  hard."  He  stopped, 
then  stepped  a  little  nearer,  timidly,  as  Vir- 
gie  might  have  done.  "Colonel,"  he  said, 
scarce  audibly,  "I  ask  you  just  one  thing;  not 
for  myself,  but  for  her — for  Virgie.  Get  the 
poor  little  tad  through  your  lines,  will  you? 
— and — and  don't  let  her  know — about 
me." 

His  captor  did  not  answer  him  in  words,  be- 
cause of  the  pain  that  took  him  by  the  throat; 
but  his  hand  went  out,  till  it  reached  another 
hand  that  gripped  it  gratefully. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       119 

"Thank  you,  Morrison,"  said  the  prisoner 
simply.  "If  it  wasn't  war  times — " 

He  choked,  and  said  no  more;  yet  silence 
proved  more  eloquent  than  human  speech. 
They  were  men — brave  men — and  both  were 
grateful;  the  one,  because  an  enemy  would 
keep  his  unspoken  word;  the  other,  because 
a  doomed  man  understood. 

Gary  opened  the  door  of  his  daughter's 
room  and  called  to  her.  She  came  in  quickly, 
a  question  in  her  big  brown  eyes. 

"Daddy,"  she  said,  "you  talked  a  mighty 
long  time.  It  was  a  heap  more  than  jus'  a 
minute." 

"Was  it?"  he  asked,  and  forced  a  smile. 
"Well,  you  see,  we  had  a  lot  to  say."  He 
seated  himself  and,  drawing  her  between  his 
knees,  took  both  her  hands.  "Now  listen, 
honey;  I'm  going  away  with  this  gentleman, 
and — "  He  stopped  as  she  looked  up  doubt- 
fully ;  then  added  a  dash  of  gayety  to  his  tender 
tone:  "Oh,  but  he  invited  me.  And  think! 
He's  coming  back  for  you — to-day — to  send 
you  up  to  Richmond.  Now,  isn't  that  just 
fine?" 


120       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

Virgie  looked  slowly  from  her  father  to  the 
Union  soldier,  who  stood  with  downcast  eyes, 
his  back  to  them. 

"Daddy,"  she  whispered,  "he's  a  right  good 
Yankee — isn't  he?" 

"Yes,  dear,"  her  father  murmured  sadly, 
and  in  yearning  love  for  the  baby  he  must 
leave  behind;  "yes — he's  mighty  goodl" 

He  knelt  and  folded  her  in  his  arms,  kissing 
her,  over  and  over,  while  his  hand  went  flutter- 
ing about  her  soft  brown  throat;  then  he 
wrenched  himself  away,  but  stood  for  a  linger- 
ing instant  more,  his  hands  outstretched, 
atremble  for  a  last  and  lingering  touch,  his 
heart  a  racing  protest  at  the  parting  he  must 
speak. 

"Gary!" 

It  wras  Morrison  who  spoke,  in  mercy  for 
the  man;  and  once  more  Gary  understood. 
He  turned  to  cross  the  broken  door;  to  face  a 
firing  squad  in  the  hot,  brown  woods ;  to  cross 
the  gulf  which  stretched  beyond  the  rumble 
of  the  guns  and  the  snarling  lip  of  war.  But 
even  as  he  turned,  a  baby's  voice  called  out,  in 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       121 

cheerful  parting,  which  he  himself  had  failed 
to  speak: 

"Good-by,  Daddy-man.  I'll  see  you  up  in 
Richmon'." 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met  and  held,  in 
the  hardest  moment  of  it  all;  for  well  they 
knew  this  hopeful  prophecy  could  never  be 
fulfilled.  Morrison  sighed  and  moved  toward 
the  door;  but,  from  its  threshold,  he  could  see 
his  troopers  returning  at  a  trot  across  the 
fields. 

"Wait,"  he  said  to  Gary;  "I'd  rather  my 
men  shouldn't  know  I've  talked  with  you." 
He  pointed  to  the  scuttle  in  the  ceiling. 
"Would  you  mind  if  I  asked  you  to 
go  back  again?  Hurry!  They  are  com- 
ing." 

The  captured  scout  saluted,  crossed  to  the 
ladder,  and  began  to  mount.  At  the  top  he 
paused  to  smile  and  blow  a  kiss  to  Virgie,  then 
disappeared,  drew  up  the  ladder  after  him, 
and  closed  the  trap. 

The  captor  stood  in  silence,  waiting  for  his 
men;  yet,  while  he  stood,  the  little  rebel  pat- 


122       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

tered  to  his  side,  slipping  her  hand  in  his  con- 
fidingly. 

"Mr.  Yankee,"  she  asked,  and  looked  up 
into  his  face,  "are  you  goin'  to  let  Daddy  come 
to  Richmon',  too?" 

Morrison  withdrew  his  hand  from  hers — 
withdrew  it  sharply — flung  himself  into  a  seat 
beside  the  table,  and  began  to  scribble  on  the 
back  of  Virgie's  rumpled  pass ;  while  the  child 
stood  watching,  trusting,  with  the  simple  trust 
of  her  little  mother-heart. 

In  a  moment  or  two,  the  troopers  came 
hurrying  in,  with  Corporal  Dudley  in  the  lead. 
He  stood  at  attention,  saluted  his  superior, 
and  made  his  report  of  failure  in  the  search. 

"Nothing  sir.  No  tracks  around  the 
spring,  and  no  traces  of  the  fellow  anywhere; 
but — "  He  stopped.  His  keen  eyes  marked 
the  changed  position  of  the  table  and  followed 
upward.  He  saw  the  outlines  of  the  scuttle 
above  his  head,  and  smiled.  "But  I'm  glad 
to  see  that  you've  had  better  luck  yourself." 

"Yes,  Corporal,"  said  Morrison,  with  a 
sharp  return  of  his  military  tone,  "I  think 
I've  found  the  fox's  hole  at  last."  He  rose 


and  gave  his  orders  briskly.  "Push  that  table 
forward! — there! — below  the  trap!  Two  of 
you  get  on  it!"  He  turned  to  the  Corporal, 
while  he  himself  climbed  up  and  stood  beside 
his  men.  "Light  that  candle  and  pass  it  up 
to  me!"  The  orders  were  obeyed.  "Now, 
boys,  boost  me! — and  we'll  have  him  out." 

They  raised  him,  till  he  pushed  the  trap 
aside  and  thrust  his  head  and  shoulders 
through  the  opening.  From  below  they  could 
see  him  as  he  waved  the  lighted  candle  to  and 
fro,  and  presently  they  heard  his  voice,  that 
sounded  deep  and  muffled  in  the  shallow  loft: 

"All  right,  boys!     You  can  let  me  down." 

He  slid  to  the  table  and  sprang  lightly  to 
the  floor,  facing  his  troopers  with  a  smile,  half- 
humorous,  half  in  seeming  disappointment,  as 
he  glanced  at  Virgie. 

"I'm  afraid  the  little  rebel's  right  again. 
He  isn't  there!" 

"Oh!"  cried  Virgie,  then  clapped  her  hands 
across  her  mouth,  while  the  troopers  slowly 
looked  from  her  into  the  level  eyes  of  their 
commanding  officer.  He  stood  before  them, 
straight  and  tall,  a  soldier,  every  inch  of  him; 


124       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

and  they  knew  that  Lieutenant- Colonel  Mor- 
rison was  lying  like  a  gentleman.  They  knew 
that  their  chief  was  staking  the  name  and  title 
of  an  honorable  soldier  against  the  higher, 
grander  title  of  "a  man." 

Only  Corporal  Dudley  stood  disconcerted 
at  the  startling  statement,  but  as  there  was 
no  help  for  it  he  could  only  strangle  an  oath 
and  give  the  order  to  pass  out. 

"'Tention!  Right  face!  Forward!  March!" 
They  mounted  and  rode  a  rod  or  two  awa}>, 
awaiting  orders;  while  Morrison  stood  silently 
and  watched  them  go.  He,  too — like  Virgie 
— had  wrestled  with  a  problem,  and  it  stirred 
him  to  the  depths.  As  a  trooper  must  obey, 
so  also  must  an  officer  obey  a  higher  will ;  yes, 
even  as  a  slave  in  iron  manacles.  The  master 
of  war  had  made  his  laws ;  and  a  servant  broke 
them,  knowingly.  A  captured  scout  was  a 
prisoner,  no  more ;  a  spy  must  hang,  or  fall  be- 
fore the  volley  of  a  firing  squad.  Xo  matter 
for  his  bravery;  no  matter  for  the  faithful 
service  to  his  cause,  the  man  must  die!  The 
glory  was  for  another;  for  one  who  waved  a 
.flag  on  the  spine  of  a  bloody  trench ;  a  trench 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       125 

which  his  brothers  stormed — and  gave  the 
blood.  No  matter  that  a  spy  had  made  this 
triumph  possible.  He  had  worn  a  uniform 
which  was  not  his  own — and  the  dog  must  die ! 

So  ruled  the  god  of  warfare;  still,  did  war 
prescribe  disgrace  and  death  for  all?  If  Gary 
had  crept  through  the  Union  lines,  to  reach  the 
side  of  a  helpless  little  one — yes,  even  in  a 
coat  of  blue — would  the  Great  Tribunal  count 
his  deed  accursed?  Should  fearless  human 
love  reap  no  reward  beyond  the  crashing  epi- 
taph of  a  firing  squad,  and  the  powder  smoke 
that  drifted  with  the  passing  of  a  soul? 

"No!  No!"  breathed  Morrison.  "In  God's 
name,  give  the  man  his  chance I" 

He  straightened  his  back  and  smiled.  He 
took  from  the  table  a  rumpled  paper  and 
turned  to  the  littlest  factor  in  the  great  Rebel- 
lion. 

"Here,  Virgie!  Here's  your  pass  to  Rich- 
mond— for  you  and  your  escort — through  the 
Federal  lines." 

She  came  to  him  slowly,  wondering ;  her  tiny 
body  quivering  with  suppressed  excitement, 
her  voice  a  whispering  caress : 


126       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"Do  you  mean  for — for  Daddy,  too?" 

"Yes,  you  little  rebel!"  he  answered,  chok- 
ing as  he  laughed;  "but  I'm  terribly  afraid 
you'll  have  to  pay  me — with  a  kiss." 

She  sprang  into  his  waiting  arms,  and  kissed 
him  as  he  raised  her  up;  but  when  he  would 
have  set  her  down,  her  little  brown  hands,  with 
their  berry-stained  fingers,  clung  tightly  about 
his  neck. 

"Wait!  Wait!"  slie  cried.  "Here's  an- 
other one — for  Gertrude!  Tell  her  it's  from 
Virgie!  An'  tell  her  I  sent  it,  'cause  her 
daddy  is  jus'  the  best  damn  Yankee  that  ever 
was!" 

The  trap  above  had  opened,  and  the  head 
and  shoulders  of  the  Southerner  appeared; 
while  Morrison  looked  up  and  spoke  in  part- 
ing: 

"It's  all  right,  Gary.  I  only  ask  a  soldier's 
pledge  that  you  take  your  little  girl  to  Rich- 
mond— nothing  more.  In  passing  through 
our  lines,  whatever  you  see  or  hear — forget!" 

A  sacred  trust  it  was,  of  man  to  man,  one 
brother  to  another;  and  Morrison  knew  that 
Herbert  Gary  would  pass  through  the  very 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       127 

center  of  the  Federal  lines,  as  a  father,  not  a 

spy. 

The  Southerner  tried  to  speak  his  gratitude, 
but  the  words  refused  to  come ;  so  he  stretched 
one  trembling  hand  toward  his  enemy  of  war, 
and  eased  his  heart  in  a  sobbing,  broken  call : 

"Morrison!    Some  day  it  will  all — be  over!" 
•          •••••• 

In  the  cabin's  doorway  stood  Virgie  and 
her  father,  hand  in  hand.  They  watched  a 
lonely  swallow  as  it  dipped  across  the  desolate, 
unfurrowed  field.  They  listened  to  the  dis- 
tant beat  of  many  hoofs  on  the  river  road  and 
the  far,  faint  clink  of  sabers  on  the  riders' 
thighs;  and  when  the  sounds  were  lost  to  the 
listeners  at  last,  the  notes  of  a  bugle  came 
whispering  back  to  them,  floating,  dipping, 
even  as  the  swallow  dipped  across  the  unfur- 
rowed fields. 

But  still  the  two  stood  lingering  in  the  door- 
way, hand  in  hand.  The  muddy  James  took 
up  his  murmuring  song  again;  the  locusts 
chanted  in  the  hot,  brown  woods  to  the  basso 
growl  of  the  big,  black  guns  far  down  the 
river. 


128       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

A  sad,  sad  song  it  was;  yet  on  its  echoes 
seemed  to  ride  a  haunting,  hopeful  memory 
of  the  rebel's  broken  call,  "Some  day  it  will 
all  be  over!" 

And  so  the  guns  growled  on,  slow,  sullen, 
thundering  forth  the  battle-call  of  a  still  un- 
conquered  enmity;  but  only  that  peace  might 
walk  "some  day"  in  the  path  of  the  shrieking 
shells. 


CHAPTER  VII 

IT  was  afternoon  and  over  on  the  eastern  side 
of  the  James  where  the  old  Turnpike  leads  up 
over  the  rolling  hills  to  Richmond  the  sun  was 
pouring  down  a  flood  of  heat.  The  'pike  was 
ankle  deep  with  dust  and  the  fine,  white  pow- 
der, churned  into  floury  softness  by  artillery 
and  the  myriad  iron  heels  of  war,  had  settled 
down  on  roadside  bush  and  tree  and  vine  till 
all  the  sweet  green  of  summer  hung  its  head 
under  the  hot  weight  and  longed  for  a  cooling 
shower  which  would  wash  it  clean. 

In  fairer  times  the  Pike  had  been  an  active 
thoroughfare  for  the  plantations  and  hundreds 
of  smaller  truck  farms  which  fed  the  capitol, 
but  of  late  months  nearly  all  this  traffic  had 
disappeared.  For  the  days  of  the  Confed- 
eracy were  drawing  slowly  but  none  the  less 
surely  to  a  close. 

Inside  the  breastworks  and  far  flung  forti- 
fications which  encompassed  Richmond  the 

129 


130       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

flower  of  the  rebel  arms,  the  Army  of  North- 
ern Virginia,  lay  like  a  rat  caught  in  a  trap. 
On  three  sides,  north,  east  and  south  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac  under  Grant  beleaguered  the 
city  while  the  tireless  Sheridan,  with  that 
lately  developed  arm  of  the  Federals,  the  cav- 
alry, raided  right  and  left  and  struck  hard 
blows  at  the  crumbling  cause  where  they  were 
least  expected.  Yet  in  this  same  dark  hour 
there  had  been  a  ray  of  light.  Once  the  Con- 
federacy had  come  within  hairbreadth  of  over- 
whelming success,  for  Early 's  hard  riding 
troopers  had  made  a  dash  for  Washington 
but  a  few  weeks  before  and,  with  the  prize 
almost  in  their  grasp,  had  only  been  turned 
back  by  a  great  force  which  the  grim,  watch- 
ful Grant  suddenly  threw  in  between  their 
guns  and  the  gleaming  dome  of  the  nation's 
capitol. 

I  But  even  this  small  success  was  not  for  long 
for  when  Early,  crossing  over  into  the  luscious 
valley  of  the  Shenandoah,  began  to  scourge 
it  with  his  hosts  and  threaten  a  raid  into  Penn- 
sylvania, Sheridan  broke  loose  from  the  re- 
striction of  telegraph  wires  arid  followed  him 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       131 

to  the  death  and  finally  broke  the  back  of  the 
great  raid  with  his  mad  gallop  from  Winches- 
ter. 

Meanwhile  around  Richmond,  Lee  and 
Grant,  a  circle  within  a  circle,  were  constantly 
feeling  each  other  out,  shifting  their  troops 
from  point  to  point  in  attack  and  defense, — 
for  all  the  world  like  two  fighting  dogs  hunt- 
ing for  an  opening  in  the  fence.  And  all  the 
time  the  grim,  quiet  man  in  blue  kept  con- 
tracting his  lines  around  the  wonderful  tacti- 
cian in  gray  until  the  whole  world  came  to 
know  that  unless  Lee  could  break  through  the 
gap  to  the  southwest  the  end  of  the  war  was 
plainly  in  sight. 

And  so  it  happened  that  on  this  hot  July 
day  the  only  sign  of  life  on  the  'pike  was  a 
small  cloud  of  dust  which  drifted  lazily  in  the 
wake  of  two  people  who  passed  along  the  road 
on  foot. 

,  One  of  the  two  was  a  tired,  gaunt  man  in 
a  ragged  uniform  of  gray  who  stared  up  the 
long,  hot  road  ahead  of  him  with  eyes  in  which 
there  was,  in  spite  of  every  discouragements 
the  light  of  a  certain  firm  resolve. 


132       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

The  other  of  the  two  was  a  child  with  bare, 
brown  legs  and  tattered  gingham  dress  who 
limped  painfully  along  beside  the  man,  her 
sunny  hair  in  a  tangle  half  across  her  pinched 
and  weary  little  face. 

At  a  faint  sigh  of  exhaustion  from  the  child 
the  man  looked  down,  gathered  her  up  in  his 
arms  and  perched  her  on  his  shoulder.  Then 
he  plodded  on  again,  a  prey  to  weariness  and 
hunger.  The  turning  point  in  Herbert 
Gary's  life  had  come.  Thanks  to  a  generous 
enemy;  Virgie  and  he  were  now  reasonably 
sure  of  food  if  once  they  could  reach  the  Con- 
federate lines  but  as  for  himself,  with  the 
woman  he  had  loved  asleep  forever  beneath 
the  pines,  the  future  could  only  be  an  unend- 
ing, barren  stretch  of  gray. 

Then,  almost  as  quickly,  recollection  of  his 
duty  towards  her  whom  he  carried  in  his  arms 
came  to  him  and  he  raged  at  himself  for  his 
moment  of  selfish  discouragement.  Spurred 
on  by  the  necessity  of  gaining  a  point  of 
safety  for  his  child  he  began  to  calculate  the 
distance  yet  to  be  covered  and  their  chances  of 


gaining  friendly  lines  before  encountering 
scouting  parties  of  Federals.  Behind  him,  a 
few  miles  south  on  the  other  bank  of  the  James 
at  Light  House  Point  Sheridan  was  in  camp 
with  two  brigades  and  Gary  knew  this  fast 
riding,  hard  striking  cavalryman  too  well  not 
to  suspect  that  the  country,  even  in  front  of 
him,  was  alive  with  Union  men.  There  was 
the  pass  which  Morrison  had  given  him,  of 
course,  but  the  worth  of  a  pass  in  war  time 
often  depends  more  on  him  who  receives  it 
than  on  the  signature. 

But  all  those  things,  even  food,  would  have 
to  wait  for  a  while  because  he  was  consumed 
with  thirst  and  must  find  water  before  he  went 
another  mile  forward. 

A  tired  sigh  from  Virgie  caught  his  ear  and 
he  stopped  by  a  stone  wall  and  let  her  get 
down  from  his  shoulder.  The  child  stood  up 
on  the  broad,  flat  stones  and  then  gave  a  little 
cry  of  pain.  She  raised  one  foot  up  and 
nursed  it  against  her  dusty,  brown  leg,  mean- 
while clutching  her  doll  closer  to  her  neck. 

"It's  all  right,  honey ;  be  a  brave  little  girl," 


134       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

her  father  said  consolingly.  "There's  a 
spring  along  here  somewhere  and  we  can  look 
after  that  poor  little  foot.  Ah,  there  it  is," 
he  cried,  as  he  caught  sight  of  a  big  rock  be- 
hind a  stone  wall  with  a  seepage  of  water  un- 
der it  among  some  trees  at  one  side.  "Just  sit 
still  a  minute — till  I  rest — and  then  we'll  have 
a  look."  He  leaned  back  against  the  wall  and 
closed  his  eyes  to  shut  out  the  dizziness  with 
which  exhaustion  and  hunger  filled  his  aching 
head. 

The  child  watched  him  anxiously  for  a  mo- 
ment and  then  put  a  soft  little  hand  on  his 
shoulder : 

"Are  you  so  tired,  Daddy-man?" 

"Yes,  dear,"  he  answered  with  a  faint  smile 
as  he  opened  his  eyes.  "I  had  to  catch  my 
breath,  but  I'm  really  all  right.  Now  then, 
we'll  call  in  the  hospital  corps." 

Virgie  slipped  down  and  sat  on  the  top  of 
the  wall  with  her  foot  in  her  hand,  rocking  to 
and  fro,  but  bravely  saying  nothing  until  her 
father's  eye  caught  the  look  of  pain  on  her 
pinched  face. 

"Does  it  hurt  you  much,  dear?"  he  asked. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       135 

"Yes,  sir.  It — it  hurts  like  the  mischief," 
answered  Virgie  in  a  small  voice.  "It  keeps 
jumping  up  and  down." 

"Little  woman,  that's  too  bad,"  he  said  with 
a  consoling  pat  on  the  head  which  seemed  to 
take  most  of  the  pain  away.  "But  after  we 
bathe  it  and  tie  it  up  it  will  feel  better." 

Kneeling  beside  the  spring  he  took  off  his 
campaign  hat  of  felt  and  dipped  it  full  of 
clear,  cold  water. 

"Wow!"  cried  Virgie  suddenly  in  the  inter- 
val and  she  slapped  her  leg  with  a  resounding 
whack.  "There  are  'skeeters  roun'  this  place. 
One  of  'em  bit  me — an  old  he  one.  Jim- 
iny!" 

"Did  he?"  asked  her  father,  smiling  as  he 
came  back  with  the  hat.  "Well,  honey,  there 
are  much  worse  things  in  this  world  than  those 
little  fellows  and  if  you  don't  complain  any 
more  than  that  you're  going  to  be  a  veiy  happy 
lady  when  you  grow  up." 

"Like  Mamma?"  asked  the  little  tot,  with  a 
thoughtful  face. 

"Just  like  Mamma,"  the  man  repeated. 
"The  loveliest — the  bravest — and  the  best/' 


136       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

He  wavered  a  little  on  his  feet  and  the  hat 
threatened  to  slip  through  his  fingers,  but  his 
daughter's  great,  dark  eyes  were  steady  on 
his  and,  curiously  enough,  he  seemed  to  draw 
strength  to  pull  himself  together. 

"And  now,  let's  see.  We'll  have  to  get  the 
grime  off  first.  Just  dip  the  little  wounded 
soldier  in." 

"What!  My  foot  in  your  hat!"  protested 
Virgie  with  a  little  scream.  "Oh,  you  poor 
daddy!" 

"Why,  that's  all  right,  honey,"  he  laughed, 
pleased  at  her  daintiness.  "That  hat's  an  old 
veteran.  He  don't  mind  anything.  So — 
souse  her  in. 

"There — easy  now — easy"  as  she  threatened 
to  capsize  this  curious  basin.  "Big  toe  first. 

"Yes,  I  know  it's  cold,"  he  laughed  as  the 
water  stung  the  broken  skin  and  made  her 
twitch  involuntarily,  "but  bathing  will  do  it/ 
good.  I  just  know  it  feels  better  already — 
doesn't  it?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Virgie  meekly,  "only — 
it  jumps  up  and  down  harder  than  ever.  But 
of  course  I  know  it  must  be  getting  better.'* 


"Good!  What  did  I  tell  you?  Now  let 
Daddy  look." 

He  lifted  her  foot  up  tenderly  and  ex- 
amined it  with  care.  "My,  my!"  he  mur- 
mured. "You  poor  little  soldier.  If  I  hadn't 
looked  around  that  time  I  expect  you'd  been 
willing  to  walk  all  the  way  to  Richmond  on  a 
foot  that  would  make  a  whole  regiment 
straggle.  Just  see  where  you've  cut  it — right 
under  the  second  little  piggie.  We'll  have  to 
tie  it  right  up  and  keep  the  bothersome  old 
dust  from  getting  in.  By  morning  you'll 
hardly  feel  it." 

With  a  soldier's  readiness  he  opened  his  coat 
and  began  to  tear  a  strip  from  his  shirt  from 
which  to  make  a  bandage.  But  his  small 
daughter  interrupted  him  with  a  vigorous 
protest. 

"Wait!"  she  cried,  with  a  face  full  of  alarm 
at  the  willful  destruction  of  his  garment. 
"Don't  do  that.  Here!  You  can  take  it 
off  my  petticoat." 

"That  petticoat,"  her  father  laughed,  with 
the  first  real  mirth  she  had  heard  for  many 
weeks.  "That  poor  little  petticoat  wouldn't 


138       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

make  an  arm  bandage  for  Susan  Jemima. 
Now — up  with  your  hoofie  and  let's  play  I'm 
a  surgeon  and  you're  a  brave  soldier  who  has 
fought  in  every  battle  since  we  first  made  the 
Yanks  skedaddle  at  Bull  Run." 

With  the  painful  foot  securely  bandaged 
the  little  girl  gave  herself  up  to  thought, 
emerging  from  her  study  at  last  to  ask  what 
was  an  all-important  question. 

"Daddy—" 

"Yes?" 

"Do  you  reckon,  by  the  time  the  war  is  over, 
we  could  call  Susan  Jemima  a  vet'ran?" 

"I  should  say  we  could,"  the  father  agreed 
heartily,  without  the  symptom  of  a  smile. 
"Hasn't  she  grown  bald  in  the  service?  And 
hasn't  she  almost  lost  an  arm — or  is  it  a  leg 
I  see  dangling  so  terribly?  I'll  tell  you  what 
we'll  do!  We'll  give  her  an  honorable  dis- 
charge— and  decorate  her.  How's  that?" 

"Oh,  fine!"  she  cried,  clapping  her  hands 
with  delight  at  the  fantasy.  "And  we'll  get 
that  Yankee  man  to  write  her  a  pass  just  like 
mine.  Do  you  hear  that,  Cap'n  Susan,"  she 
crooned  to  the  doll,  unconscious  of  the  con- 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       139 

vulsion  of  silent  amusement  beside  her. 
"When  we  get  to  Richmon' — if  we  ever  do 
get  there — I'm  going  to  make  you  a  uniform!" 

Then  she  turned  to  her  father  with  a  little 
sigh,  for  the  miles  seemed  very  long. 

"How  far  is  it  to  Richmon',  Daddy-man?" 
she  said. 

"Just  about  twelve  miles,"  her  father  an- 
swered. "But  they're  real  old  country  miles, 
I'm  sorry  to  say." 

"Can  we  get  to  it  to-night?" 

The  simple  little  question  made  the  man's 
heart  ache.  What  wouldn't  he  give  for  an 
hour  of  Roger  once  more — or  Belle — or 
Lightfoot!  Anything — even  one  of  the  old 
plantation  mules  would  do  if  he  could  only 
perch  her  up  on  its  back  and  take  her  into 
Richmond  like  a  lady  and  not  like  the  daugh- 
ter of  poor  white  trash,  tramping,  poverty 
stricken,  along  a  dusty  road. 

"No,  dear,  not  to-night,"  he  sighed.  "We've 
come  a  long  way  and  we're  both  tired.  So 
when  it  gets  dark  we'll  curl  up  somewhere  in 
the  nice,  sweet  woods  and  take  a  snooze,  just 
like  camping  out.  And  then — in  the  morn- 


ing,  when  the  old  sun  comes  sneaking  up 
through  the  trees,  we'll  fool  him!  We  won't 
wait  till  he  can  make  it  hot,  but  well  get  right 
up  with  the  birds  and  the  squirrels  and  we'll 
just  run  right  along.  And  by  twelve  o'clock 
we'll  be  in  Richmond — where  they  have  good 
things  to  eat.  So  there  you  are — all  mapped 
out.  Only  now  we'll  have  a  belt  supper." 

"A  belt  supper?"  queried  the  child  curi- 
ously, though  her  face  brightened  at  the 
thought  of  any  kind  of  supper,  made  out  of 
belts  or  any  other  thing. 

"Urn-hum,"  asseverated  her  father  gravely. 
"See — this  is  the  way  it's  done." 

He  cupped  his  hands  and  took  a  draught 
from  the  spring,  pretending  to  chew  it  as  it 
went  down.  "You  take  a  big  drink  of  nice 
cold  water;  then  draw  up  your  belt  as  tight 
as  you  can — and  say  your  prayers." 

To  his  surprise  his  small  daughter  only 
sniffed  scornfully. 

"Oh,  shucks,  Daddy!  I  know  a  better  way 
than  that.  Susan  an'  me  used  to  do  it  all 
the  time  while  you  were  away." 

"What  did  you  do?"  he  asked  curiously,  for 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       141 

he  had  forgotten  that  more  than  half  the  child- 
ish play  world  is  the  world  of  "make  believe." 

"Why,  we — we  just  'let  on' "  she  answered, 
with  simple  naivete.  "Sit  down  an'  I'll  show 
you  how." 

He  sat  down  obediently,  but  not  before  he 
had  picked  up  an  old  tin  can  from  nearby 
and  set  it  carefully  between  them. 

"This  rock  is  our  table — the  moss  is  the 
table  cloth.  Oh,  it  isn't  green,"  she  cried  as 
he  looked  down  in  serious  doubt.  "You 
must  help  me  make  believe.  Now — doesn't  it 
look  nice  and  white?" 

"It  does,  indeed.  I  can  see  nothing  but 
snowy  linen  of  the  finest  texture,"  he  re- 
sponded instantly. 

"That's  better,"  complimented  his  hostess. 
And  then  with  a  grand  air — 

"I'm  so  glad  you  dropped  in,  sir — an'  just 
at  supper  time.  Pass  your  plate  an'  allow 
me  to  help  you  to  some  batter  bread." 

"Batter  bread!  Ah,  just  what  I  was 
hoping  for,"  her  guest  replied,  thankfully  ex- 
tending his  plate  for  the  Barmecidal  feast. 
"Thank  you.  Delicious.  The  very  best  I've 


142       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

tasted  for  a  year.  Did  you  make  it  your- 
self?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no — the  cook." 

"Ah,  of  course!  Pray  pardon  me.  I 
might  have  known." 

The  little  hostess  inclined  her  head.  "Take 
plenty  of  butter.  'Cause  batter  bread  isn't 
good  'thout  butter." 

"Thank  you — what  lovely  golden  butter. 
And — goodness  gracious!  What  is  this  I 
see  before  me?  Can  this  really  be  a  sau- 
sage?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  laughed  Virgie  with  delight. 
"And  there's  the  ham.  I  smoked  it  myself 
over  hick'ry  wood.  Please  help  yourself." 

She  pretended  to  arrange  a  cup  and  saucer 
in  front  of  her  and  held  daintily  in  her  fingers 
a  pair  of  imaginary  sugar  tongs. 

"Coffee?  How  many  lumps?  And  do 
you  take  cream?" 

"Five,  please — and  a  little  cream.  There 
— just  right." 

She  passed  the  cup  gracefully  and  added 
a  little  moue  of  concern  for  the  efficiency  of 
her  menage. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       143 

"I'm  afraid  you  won't  find  it  very  hot,"  sr.in 
this  surprising  young  hostess.  "That  butler 
of  mine  is  growing  absolutely  wuthless." 

"Then  perhaps  we  can  have  something  bet- 
ter," her  guest  responded  readily,  and  he 
picked  up  the  battered  old  tin  can.  "Permit 
me,  Miss  Cary,  to  offer  you  a  glass  of  fine  old 
blackberry  wine  which  I  carefully  brought 
with  me  to  your  beautiful  home.  It  has  been 
in  my  family  wine  cellars  since  1838. 

"Well — "  he  cried,  as  Virgie  suddenly  sat 
back  with  a  look  of  painful  recollection  on  her 
face. 

"Oh,  Daddy,"  she  murmured  pathetically, 
"don't  let's  call  it  blackberry  wine." 

"Forgive  me,  darling,"  her  father  said  ten- 
derly, and  he  took  the  small  face  between  his 
hands  and  kissed  her.  "There,  now — it's  all 
right.  It's  all  right/" 

To  create  a  diversion  he  looked  behind  him 
with  a  frown  and  spoke  with  great  severity  to 
an  imaginary  waiter. 

"Here,  Jo!  How  dare  you  bring  such  terri- 
bly reminiscent  stuff  to  our  table.  Go  get  the 
port. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"We'll  surely  have  to  discharge  that  butler,** 
he  said.  "He's  too  shiftless.  And  now,  fair 
lady,  will  you  honor  me  by  joining  the  hum- 
blest of  your  admirers  in  a  sip  of  port." 

"With  pleasure,"  answered  his  hostess,  and 
lifted  the  can  of  water  in  both  hands.  "Your 
health,  sir.  May  your  shadow  never  grow 
littler." 

Half  way  through  her  drink  Virgie  stopped 
and  slowly  put  the  can  down.  She  looked  at 
her  father,  who  already  had  his  finger  at  his 
lips.  Voices  had  come  to  them  from  down 
the  road — the  sounds  of  a  party  of  men  talk- 
ing and  laughing  as  the}'-  marched  along. 

Gary's  face  took  on  again  the  grim  lines 
which  had  been  wiped  away  momentarily  by 
their  little  bit  of  play.  He  was  trying  to 
make  himself  believe  that  the  approaching 
party  might  be  friends,  although  he  knew 
only  too  well  that  such  a  possibility  was  full 
of  doubt.  There  were  too  many  scouting 
parties  of  Federals  ready  to  pounce  on  Rebel 
patrols  in  these  perilous  days  to  allow  any  but 
large  forces  of  men  to  venture  far  from 
Richmond,  and  when  his  own  men  sallied 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       145 

forth  they  did  not  go  with  laughter  but  with 
tightly  drawn,  silent  lips. 

"S-s-s-h,"  he  whispered,  and  held  up  his 
finger  again,  as  she  seemed  ready  to  burst  into 
questioning. 

Immediately  she  snuggled  close  to  him  and 
whispered  hotly  in  his  ear,  "Who  are  they, 
Daddy?" 

"I  don't  know,  honey,"  he  whispered  back. 
"But  I'm  afraid  they're  Yanks.  Keep  quiet 
till  they  pass."  And  quickly  deserting  the 
stone  under  the  trees  wThere  they  had  had  their 
"belt  supper"  he  drew  her  with  him  behind 
the  large  ledge  of  rock  from  under  which  the 
spring  flowed  out.  Looking  behind  them  he 
saw  that  with  good  luck  they  could  reach  the 
shelter  of  the  woods  and  get  up  over  the  hill 
without  being  seen.  But  just  now  they  could 
not  stir  from  their  hiding  place  unless — unless 
the  men  were  Confederates.  This  faint  hope, 
however,  soon  flickered  out  when  he  saw  the 
color  of  their  uniforms. 

Up  the  road  came  four  dismounted  men 
with  a  corporal  in  command.  They  were 
taking  it  easy  as  they  walked  along,  their  caps 


146       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

thrust  back,  their  coats  open  and  their  Sharps' 
carbines  carried  in  the  variety  of  ways  that  a 
soldier  adopts  to  ease  his  shoulder  of  the  bur- 
den that  grows  heavier  with  every  mile. 

"Here's  the  place,  boys,"  the  Corporal 
called  out  as  liis  eye  fell  on  the  spring.  "We 
can  get  some  decent  water,  now.  That  James 
River  water's  too  yellow  for  any  white  man 
to  put  inside  of  him." 

At  the  sound  of  a  voice  which  he  had  heard 
that  same  morning  while  he  hid  in  the  attic 
of  the  overseer's  cabin  Gary's  hold  on  his 
daughter's  hand  tightened  warningly. 

"Come  along,  Virgie,"  he  whispered. 
"We'll  get  out  of  the  way." 

"But,  Daddy,"  she  protested  in  low  tones, 
"we've  got  our  pass." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  he  answered,  with  a 
twinge  of  regret  that  the  rest  of  the  world 
could  not  trust  so  faithfully  to  human  kind- 
ness. "But  that's  for  emergency.  Come 
along,  honey — quick!" 

Silently  as  a  shadow  the  two  stole  out  of 
the  shelter  of  the  ledge  of  rock,  and  by  dint  of 
keeping  it  between  them  and  the  troopers, 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       147 

managed  to  cover  most  of  the  open  space  be- 
tween the  spring  and  the  protecting  trees  with- 
out being  seen.  Meanwhile,  they  heard  the 
Corporal  giving  his  commands. 

"You,  Collins,  take  sentry  duty  out  there  in 
the  road  for  a  while.  As  soon  as  we  make  the 
coffee  we'll  bring  you  out  a  cup.  Now — 
over  the  wall  with  you,  men." 

Leaving  one  man  behind  to  pace  slowly  up 
and  down  the  dusty  road  the  four  sprang  over 
the  wall  and  advanced  towards  the  spring.  It 
was  well  the  sight  of  the  cool  water  held  their 
eyes  for  if  they  had  only  looked  up  they 
might  have  seen  Virgie  wresting  her  hand  out 
of  her  father's  grasp  and  standing  suddenly 
petrified  with  the  thought  that  she  had  left  be- 
hind her  one  beloved  possession. 

"Here's  the  spring,  Smith — under  the  rock. 
Fill  up  the  canteens.  Here,  Harry,  help  me 
get  fire  wood." 

With  a  soldier's  readiness  when  it  comes  to 
making  camp  one  of  the  troopers  promptly 
collected  the  canteens  and  knelt  down  by  the 
spring,  carefully  submerging  one  at  a  time  so 
as  to  get  the  sweet,  cold  water  in  all  its  purity. 


148       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

Another  opened  the  knapsacks  and  took  out  a 
can  of  coffee,  biscuits  and  some  scraps  of  meat 
— not  much  with  which  to  make  a  meal  but  still 
so  much  more  than  many  a  Rebel  soldier  had 
that  day  as  to  take  on  the  proportions  of  a 
feast.  Meanwhile,  Corporal  Dudley  had 
drawn  his  saber  and  was  engaged  in  leisurely 
lopping  off  the  dead  branches  of  a  fallen  tree. 

"This  strikes  me  a  lot  better  than  the  camp," 
he  remarked  as  he  tossed  his  firewood  into  a 
heap.  "A  man  and  his  friends  can  have  a 
quiet  drink  here,  without  treating  a  whole 
damn  battalion.'* 

His  eye  fell  on  the  ground  near  the  spring 
as  he  spoke  and  he  paused.  Then,  with  a  grin 
on  his  face,  he  jabbed  his  saber  into  something 
which  lay  there  and  held  it  transfixed  on  the 
point. 

"Say,  boys — look  at  this,"  and  he  shook 
poor  Susan  Jemima  till  her  arms  and  legs 
wiggled  spasmodically  and  her  dress  seemed 
on  the  point  of  complete  disintegration. 

Perhaps,  if  Corporal  Dudley  had  not 
laughed  derisively  Virgie  might  have  stayed 
hidden  in  the  protection  of  the  trees,  but  this 


HE  LITTLEST  REBEL       149 

outrageous  insult  combined  with  the  terrible 
sight  of  poor  Susan  Jemima  impaled  on  a 
Yankee  sword  was  too  much  for  her  bursting 
heart.  With  blazing  eyes  she  broke  away 
from  her  father  and  dashed  back  to  the  group 
at  the  spring. 

"Here,  you!  You  stop  that,"  she  cried 
angrily  at  the  astonished  troopers,  who  caught 
up  their  carbines  at  the  sound  of  feet.  "How 
dare  you!" 

There  was  a  moment  of  surprise  and  then 
the  four  broke  out  in  guffaws  of  laughter. 

"Well,  hang  me  if  it  isn't  the  little  girl  we 
saw  this  morning,"  shouted  Dudley,  without, 
however,  stopping  the  torture  of  the  defenseless 
Susan  Jemima.  "Where  did  you  drop  from?" 

"Ne'm  min'  where  I  dropped  from,"  com- 
manded the  wrathful  Virgie  with  her  dark 
eyes  like  twin  stars  of  hate.  "You're  the 
meanest  old  thing  I  ever  saw.  Give  me  back 
r,iy  baby!" 

Back  in  the  trees  a  little  way  a  man  was 
watching  with  a  heavy  heart.  He  knew  only 
too  well  what  was  to  come.  No  matter  what 
the  final  outcome  might  be  when  he  showed 


150       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

his  safe-guard  to  his  own  army's  lines  there 
would  be  a  delay  and  searching  questions  and 
more  of  the  old  insults  which  always  made  his 
blood  boil — which  always  made  the  increasing 
burden  of  despair  still  harder  to  bear.  But 
there  was  no  use  in  putting  off  the  trial — 
Virgie  had  slipped  away  in  spite  of  every 
whispered  remonstrance  and  now  that  she  was 
there  in  the  center  of  that  group  of  guffawing 
Yankees,  there,  too,  was  the  only  place  for 
him.  And  so,  he  stepped  out  swiftly  and 
faced  the  enemy. 

"Hah!"  shouted  Dudley,  looking  up  at  the 
sound  of  branches  crackling  underfoot.  "A 
Johnnie  Reb,  eh — walking  right  into  camp! 
That's  right,  Harry,  keep  him  covered." 

He  looked  Gary  over  from  head  to  foot  with 
a  sneer  at  his  tattered  uniform. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  asked,  "who  are  you?" 

"A  Confederate  officer,"  was  the  quiet  re- 
ply, "acting  as  escort  for  this  child.  We  are 
on  our  way  to  Richmond." 

Gary's  hand  went  into  the  breast  of  his  coat 
and  he  drew  out  a  folded  paper. 

"Here  is  my  authority  for  entering  your 


"But  he  says  she1;  jus'  asleep" 


"I  don't  like  to  be  called  a  monkey" 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       151 

lines — a  pass  signed  by  Lieutenant- Colonel 
Morrison." 

At  the  sound  of  the  name  Corporal  Dudley 
started  and  quickly  took  the  paper.  But  be- 
fore he  opened  it  he  gave  Cary  a  keen  look 
which,  to  the  Confederate  officer,  did  not  bode 
well  for  the  prospect  of  immediate  release.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  man's  sharp  wits  had  suddenly 
seized  on  something  which  he  could  profitably 
turn  to  his  own  account. 

With  his  back  turned  on  Cary  and  Virgie 
the  Corporal  unfolded  the  pass  and  studied  it 
carefully,  while  the  troopers  gathered  behind 
him  and  tried  to  read  its  contents  over  his 
shoulder. 

"Pwhat  does  it  say?"  asked  the  young  Irish- 
man, Harry  O'Connell,  who  had  covered  Cary 
with  his  carbine.  'Tis  a  precious  bit  of  pa- 
per, bedad — if  it  passes  him  through  me" 

"It  says:  'Pass  Virginia  Cary  and  escort 
through  all  Federal  lines,  and  assist  them  as 
far  as  possible  in  reaching  Richmond,' "  read 
the  Corporal. 

Deep  in  thought  he  turned  the  paper  over 
and  studied  the  name  on  the  back.  At  the 


152       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

sight  of  the  signature  there  his  mouth  fell 
open  and  he  uttered  a  shout  of  surprise.  His 
eyes  brightened  and  he  stepped  back  from  the 
group  and  threw  up  his  head  with  a  look  of 
triumph  on  his  dark  face.  He  struck  the  pa- 
per a  slap  with  the  back  of  his  hand. 

"Morrison  on  one  side — and  'Old  Bob'  on 
the  other"  he  exclaimed.  "By  G — d,  this  is 
a  find." 

"How  so— a  find?" 

The  man  who  had  had  to  put  his  own  brother 
under  arrest  a  few  short  weeks  before  and  then 
had  seen  him  shot  through  the  heart  by  this 
same  officer  whose  name  was  on  the  pass 
looked  at  the  questioner  with  an  ugly  glitter 
in  his  eyes.  He  was  beginning  to  taste  al- 
ready the  sweets  of  revenge.  For  blood  ties 
bind,  no  matter  how  badly  they  are  stretched, 
and  long  ago  Corporal  Dudley  had  sworn  to 
wipe  out  his  grudge. 

"Why,  man,  can't  you  see?"  he  whispered 
excitedly.  "This  Johnnie  Reb  is  the  man  that 
was  hiding  in  the  cabin  loft  this  morning. 
Morrison  lied  when  he  said  he  wasn't  there — 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       153 

you  remember,  he  was  the  only  one  who 
looked — he  lied  and  as  soon  as  he  got  us  out  of 
the  way  he  let  him  come  down  and  he  gave 
him  this.  Could  any  man  ask  for  better  proof 
that  we  had  the  spy  right  in  our  hands  and 
then  our  commanding  officer  deliberately  let 
him  go?" 

At  the  sound  of  the  man's  excited  whisper- 
ing Gary's  fears  as  to  the  value  of  Virgie's 
pass  grew  too  strong  to  warrant  this  agony 
of  watching  and  waiting,  and  he  stepped  for- 
ward with  a  sharp  question: 

"Well,  Corporal,  isn't  the  pass  satisfac- 
tory?" 

"Oh,  perfectly — perfectly,"  Dudley  an- 
swered with  baleful  readiness,  but  made  no 
move  to  return  it. 

Cary  put  out  his  hand.  "Then  I  would  like 
to  have  it  again,  if  you  please." 

By  way  of  answer  Corporal  Dudley  care- 
fully found  an  inside  pocket  and  buttoned  the 
pass  up  in  his  coat.  "Oh,  no,  you  don't,"  he 
said,  with  an  evil  grin.  "I've  got  a  better  use 
for  that  little  piece  of  paper." 


154       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  you're  my  prisoner,  Mister 
Johnnie  Reb,"  was  the  brutal  answer. 

"For  what?"  asked  Cary,  while  his  heart 
grew  sick  inside  him  and  his  lips  twitched. 
Richmond  —  and  food  for  Virgie  were  grow- 
ing farther  away  every  moment. 

"Because  you're  a  Rebel  spy,  that's  why," 
came  the  biting  answer. 

"Oh  —  none  of  that,"  as  Gary's  fists  doubled 
up  and  he  made  a  forward  step  at  the  Cor- 
poral. "I  guess  you  know  what's  good  for 
you,  with  three  guns  at  your  back.  If  Colo- 
nel Morrison  wouldn't  take  you  as  a  spy,  I 


"Here,  boys,"  he  said  in  brusque  command 
to  his  men,  "we'll  have  to  cut  the  supper  and 
take  this  man  to  camp.  There'll  be  a  sunrise 
hanging  to-morrow  or  I  miss  my  guess. 
Come  on,  now.  Bring  him  along." 

"Wait  a  minute,  Corporal,"  O'Connell 
said.  "Sure  I've  something  to  say  to  ye,"  and 
he  led  him  aside  where  the  others  could  not 
hear. 

All  unconscious  of  the  fatal  predicament 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       155 

into  which  Susan  Jemima  and  she  had  got 
them  Virgie  looked  up  at  her  father  from 
where  she  stood  in  the  shelter  of  his  arm. 

"Daddy,"  she  questioned,  in  a  small,  puz- 
zled voice,  "what  are  they  going  to  do?" 

"S-s-s-h,"  her  father  commanded  as  he 
patted  her  head  comfortingly.  "Everything 
will  be  all  right,  honey,  I'm  sure."  But  he 
had  caught  enough  of  the  Corporal's  alterca- 
tion with  Trooper  O'Connell  to  make  him  see 
that  things  were  very  far  from  being  what  he 
wanted  Virgie  to  suppose. 

"Ye'd  better  be  careful  now,"  O'Connell 
said  to  Dudley.  "Ye  know  well  that  if  the 
pass  is  all  right  ye'll  be  getting  yerself  into  a 
peck  o'  trouble." 

"It  isn't  me  that'll  get  in  trouble,"  Dudley 
answered,  with  grim  triumph.  "It's  someone 
else." 

"Faith,  then,  who?"  was  the  query. 

"Morrison"  snapped  Dudley,  with  an 
ominous  click  of  his  teeth. 

"The  Colonel?    Why?" 

"Because  he  helped  this  spy  escape!  that's 
why.  He  killed  my  brother,  d — n  him.  Shot 


156       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

him  down  like  a  dog.  But  now  I'm  even  with 
him." 

He  shook  the  pass  under  the  trooper's  nose 
and  crowed  with  satisfaction. 

"I've  been  waiting  for  a  chance  like  this,"  he 
chortled,  "and  now  I'm  going  to  make  him 
sweat — sweat  blood." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Corporal,"  the  trooper 
counseled.  "What'll  ye  be  after  doin'?" 

"Report  him  at  headquarters — for  helping 
a  spy  escape!  If  I  have  the  man  and  this" 
and  he  slapped  the  paper,  "it'll  mean  his  sword 
and  shoulder  straps — if  not  a  bullet!  Come 
on!" 

He  turned  away,  to  scramble  over  the  wall, 
but  Trooper  O'Connell  caught  his  arm. 

"Hold  on!     Ye  may  get  in  trouble." 

In  answer  Dudley  broke  away  and  dog- 
gedly kept  on  towards  the  stone  wall  and  the 
road.  "Keep  off,"  he  snarled.  "I'm  run- 
ning this." 

"I  know  ye  are,"  the  trooper  replied,  "but 
wait,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  rear.  "Don't 
forgit  that  the  Colonel's  out  yonder  recon- 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       1ST 

noiterin'.  If  he  happened  to  overtake  ye  on 
the  road — " 

Struck  with  the  sudden  thought  Dudley 
paused.  "Well,  that's  so,"  he  growled  as  he 
saw  how  easily  he  could  be  held  for  disobeying 
orders  and  how  quickly  all  his  plans  for 
vengeance  could  be  smashed.  He  stood  still 
for  a  moment  gnawing  his  lip,  then  suddenly 
struck  his  doubled  fist  into  the  palm  of  the 
other  hand. 

"Then  you  stay  here  to  guard  the  prisoner,'* 
he  said.  "I'll  cut  through  the  woods — make 
my  report — come  back  with  the  horses — and 
my  authority." 

"Here,  Smith!  You  and  Judson  come 
along  with  me.  Never  mind  the  grub.  We'll 
get  that  later." 

Turning  to  O'Connell,  "If  you  hear  anyone 
coming,  take  those  two  into  the  woods.  Col- 
lins! You'll  have  to  stay  on  sentry  duty  till 
I  get  back.  If  any  troops  pass  here,  get  out 
of  sight  at  once  and  give  Harry  warning. 
Now,  boys — come  along  with  me — we'll  take 
it  on  the  trot,"  and  climbing  quickly  over  the 


158       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

wall  the  man  who  held  two  lives  in  the  hollow 
of  his  hand  ran  down  the  road  with  the  two 
troopers,  finally  cutting  over  into  the  woods 
and  disappearing  from  view. 

Gary  and  Virgie  stood  still  by  the  spring. 
Out  in  the  road  the  sentry  paced  back  and 
forth.  Behind  them  Trooper  O'Connell  stood 
on  guard,  his  carbine  in  his  arms  across  his 
breast. 

Virgie  pulled  gently  at  her  father's  hand. 

"Daddy,"  she  whispered,  "are  they — are 
they  goin'  to  carry  us  off  to  the  Yankee 
camp  ?" 

"I'm  afraid  so,  darling,  but  I  don't  know," 
he  answered  sadly.  "We'll  just  have  to  wait. 
Wait,"  he  repeated,  as  he  sat  down  on  a  rock 
and  drew  her  close  to  him.  Without  being 
seen  either  by  Virgie  or  O'Connell  he  picked 
up  a  jagged  stone  the  size  of  his  fist  and  hid 
it  under  his  knee  against  the  rock.  It  would 
be  a  poor  weapon  at  best,  but  Gary  had  grown 
desperate  and  if  the  trooper  once  turned  his 
back  and  gave  him  opportunity  poor  Harry 
O'Connell  would  wake  up  with  a  very  bad 
headache  and  Virgie  would  be  in  Richmond. 


But  Virgie's  eyes  were  on  neither  the  hidden 
stone  nor  her  father's  watchful,  relentless  face. 
All  that  Virgie  could  see  was  a  knapsack  open 
on  the  ground  and  food — real  food  displayed 
round  about  with  a  prodigality  which  made 
her  mouth  water  and  her  eyes  as  big  as  saucers. 

"Daddy,"  she  murmured,  clutching  at  his 
sleeve,  "while  we  are  waitin'  do  you  reckon  we 
could  take  just  a  little  bit  of  that?" 

"No,  dear — not  now,"  her  father  answered, 
with  a  touch  of  impatience.  It  would  be  too 
much,  even  in  those  bitter  times,  to  accept  a 
man's  food  and  then  break  his  head  for  it. 

"Well,"  said  Virgie,  completely  mystified 
at  the  restraint,  "I  don't  see  why  they 
shouldn't  be  polite  to  us.  We  were  just  as 
polite  as  could  be  when  the  Yankees  took  our 
corn." 

Just  then  the  young  Irishman  with  the  car- 
bine turned  around  and  caught  the  wan  look 
on  Virgie's  face  and  the  hunger  appeal  in  her 
big  dark  eyes.  At  once  a  broad  smile  broke 
over  his  freckled  countenance  and  he  gestured 
hospitably  with  his  gun. 

"Have  somethin'  to  eat,  little  wan." 


160       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

Gary's  knee  loosened.  The  jagged  stone 
fell  to  the  ground. 

"Thank  you,  old  fellow,"  he  cried,  spring- 
ing to  his  feet.  "I  can't  show  my  gratitude  to 
'you  in  any  substantial  way  at  present — but 
God  bless  you,  just  the  same."  He  dropped 
down  on  the  rock  again  and  hid  his  face  in  his 
hands.  Another  moment  and  the  kindhearted 
trooper  might  have  been  lying  face  down- 
wards in  the  muddy  ground  around  the  spring. 
It  had  been  only  touch-and-go,  but  the  man's 
warm  Irish  heart  had  saved  him. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  sir,"  O'Connell  an- 
swered freely.  "Sure  an'  I'd  like  to  see  ye 
get  through,  though  I  ain't  the  Gineral.  At 
least,  not  yet,"  he  grinned. 

"There  ye  are,  little  girl,"  he  went  on,  push- 
ing the  knapsack  over  towards  Virgie  with  the 
muzzle  of  his  carbine.  "Jist  help  yerself — an' 
give  yer  dad  some,  too." 

With  a  little  cry  of  delight  Virgie  swooped 
down  on  the  knapsack  and  explored  its  in- 
terior with  eager  hands. 

"I'm  much  obliged,  Mr.  Yankee.  We 
cert'ny  do  need  it — bad."  She  tossed  the 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       161 

tangled  hair  back  from  her  eyes  and  looked 
thankfully  up  at  this  curious  person  who  had 
so  much  food  that  he  could  really  give  part  of 
it  away.  "Please,  Mr.  Yankee — won't  you 
tell  me  your  name?" 

"Harry  O'Connell,  at  your  service,  miss." 

"Thank  you,"  she  bowed.  "I'm  very  glad 
to  meet  you."  Then  her  searching  hands 
found  something  wonderful  in  the  knapsack 
and  she  sprang  up  and  ran  with  her  prizes  to 
her  father. 

"Look,  Daddy — two  biscuits!  Take  one. 
It's— it's  real?' 

Gary's  eyes  grew  moist. 

"Thank  you,  darling.  Thank  you."  Just 
now  the  lump  in  his  throat  would  not  have  al- 
lowed him  to  eat  soup,  let  alone  a  rather  hard 
biscuit,  but  he  looked  up  with  a  laugh  and 
waved  a  genial  salute  to  the  trooper,  who  as 
genially  responded. 

Virgie,  however,  had  become  quite  single 
minded  since  she  had  discovered  food,  and 
with  a  happy  sigh  she  raised  the  biscuit  to  her 
lips.  Just  then  the  sentry  in  the  road  flung 
up  his  hand  with  a  shout. 


162       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"Look  out,  O'Connell!  They're  coming," 
and  he  clambered  quickly  over  the  wall  and 
dropped  behind  it,  his  gun  in  readiness. 

"What  is  it?'*  demanded  the  other  trooper. 

"Detachment  of  cavalry.     A  small  one." 

"But  whose  is  it,  man.     Can  ye  not  see?" 

Collins,  holding  his  hand  behind  him  m  a 
gesture  which  commanded  them  to  stay  where 
they  were,  raised  his  head  cautiously  over  the 
wall. 

"Morrison's,"  he  answered,  after  a  quick 
look,  and  he  dropped  down  again  out  of  sight. 

At  the  sound  of  hoof  beats  and  the  name 
she  remembered  so  well  Virgie,  with  her  biscuit 
all  untasted,  sprang  up  from  the  ground  as  if 
she  would  run  out  on  the  road.  But  her 
father  caught  her,  for  O'Connell  had  turned  to 
them  with  a  serious  face. 

"I'm  sorry,  sir,  but  I'll  have  to  trouble  ye 
to  get  under  cover  in  the  woods.  No  argy- 
mint,  sir,"  he  said  decisively,  as  he  saw  some 
show  of  resistance  on  Gary's  part.  "I'm  un- 
der orders." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  Gary  cried,  impatiently, 
"but  I  want  to  speak  to  Colonel  Morrison. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       163 

I  must  speak  to  him.  Give  me  a  moment, 
man.  You  won't  ever  regret  it." 

"Come  now — none  o'  that,'*  commanded  the 
trooper,  pushing  him  back  with  the  carbine 
across  his  breast.  "Don't  make  me  use  force, 
sir.  Ye '11  have  to  go — so  go  quietly.  And 
mind — no  shenanigan!" 

Caiy  stood  his  ground  for  a  moment,  meet- 
ing the  trooper  eye  to  eye — then  turned  with 
hanging  head  and  walked  a  few  steps  back 
into  the  woods. 

"Come,  Virgie,"  he  said,  "I  guess  we  won't 
get  to  see  Colonel  Morrison  after  all." 

But  Virgie,  being  a  woman,  had  her  own 
ideas  about  what  she  would  or  would  not  do. 
At  the  same  moment  that  the  trooper  was 
forcing  her  father  step  by  step  back  into  the 
woods,  Virgie  was  running  madly  towards  the 
stone  wall  and  before  either  of  the  soldiers 
could  stop  her  she  had  clambered  up  on  its 
broad  top  and  was  calling  out  to  a  man  who 
clattered  by  at  the  head  of  a  troop  of  cavalry. 

"Colonel    Morrison!    Colonel    Morrison!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"HALT!" 

At  the  sound  of  that  piping,  childish  treble 
calling  his  name  in  so  unexpected  a  place  the 
officer  at  the  head  of  the  troop  threw  up  his 
gauntleted  hand  and  brought  the  detachment 
to  a  standstill  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

"Hello,  there,"  he  said,  turning  curiously 
around  in  his  saddle.  "Who  is  it  wants  me?" 

"It's  me,  Virgie!"  the  child  cried,  leaping  up 
and  down  on  the  wall,  all  forgetful  of  her  sore 
foot.  "Come  help  Daddy  and  me — come 
quick!" 

"Well— what  on  earth—" 

Morrison  threw  out  a  command  to  his  men 
and,  wheeling  his  horse,  spurred  vigorously  up 
to  the  wall  where  he  dismounted  and  came  up 
to  take  a  closer  view  of  the  tangle  haired  little 
person  dancing  on  one  foot. 

"Why — bless  my  soul  if  it  isn't  Virgie!" 
His  arms  opened  to  take  her  in  when,  sud- 

164 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       165 

denly,  his  eye  fell  on  O'Connell,  standing  at 
attention  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall. 

"O'Connell,"  he  said,  sternly,  "what  is  the 
meaning  of  this?  Why  aren't  you  with  your 
detachment?" 

"It  isn't  his  fault,"  Virgie  interposed  in 
stout  defense  of  the  nice  Yankee  who  carried 
biscuits  in  his  knapsack.  "He's  under  or- 
ders." 

The  glib  use  of  the  military  term  made  a 
smile  flicker  across  Morrison's  face,  but  his 
eyes  did  not  leave  the  troubled  trooper. 

"Whose  orders?"  he  demanded. 

"Corporal  Dudley,  sir,"  was  the  stammer- 
ing answer. 

At  this  moment  Cary  stepped  forward  and 
the  two  officers  exchanged  nods  of  recogni- 
tion. 

"Let  me  explain,"  the  Confederate  said. 
"Virgie  and  I  were  making  for  Richmond  as 
rapidly  as  we  could.  Here,  by  this  spring, 
we  were  put  under  arrest  by  a  corporal  and 
four  troopers.  Naturally,  I  presented  your 
pass,  but  the  corporal  refused  to  honor  it. 
He  then  left  me  under  guard  and  hurried  off 


166       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

to  headquarters  with  the  pass  in  his  posses- 
sion." 

At  this  unwelcome  news  Morrison's  head 
jerked  back  as  if  he  had  been  struck  and  his 
lips  tightened.  Without  the  addition  of  an- 
other word  to  Gary's  story  he  saw  all  the  dire 
consequences  to  himself  of  what  had  been  an 
act  of  the  commonest  humanity.  Yes,  in 
other  times  it  would  have  been  what  any  right 
thinking  human  being  would  have  done  for 
another  in  distress,  but,  unhappily,  this  was 
war  time  and  the  best  of  motives  were  only 
too  often  mis-read.  In  his  mind's  eye  he  saw 
the  vindictive  Dudley,  eager  for  a  revenge 
which  he  could  not  encompass  any  other  way, 
laying  the  proof  of  this  act  before  his  superiors 
with  an  abundance  of  collateral  evidence  which, 
he  knew,  would  condemn  him  before  any 
military  tribunal  in  the  world.  It  mattered 
not  what  kindly  impulses  had  guided  his  hand 
when  he  wrote  the  safeguard  on  the  other  side 
of  the  paper  on  which  Robert  E.  Lee  had 
previously  placed  his  name,  for  it  is  not  the 
custom  of  courts  martial  to  weigh  the  milk  of 
human  kindness  against  the  blood  and  iron  of 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       167 

war.  The  good  and  the  safety  of  the  greater 
number  demand  the  sacrifice  of  every  man 
who  would  imperil  the  cause  by  ill  considered 
generosity.  Morrison  could  see  that  very 
presently  he  would  have  to  answer  certain 
stern  questions. 

Yet,  there  was  a  chance  still  that  Dudley 
might  be  headed  off  and  this  whole  miserable 
business  stopped  before  revenge  could  set  the 
inexorable  wheels  in  motion  and  he  whirled 
round  on  O'Connell  with  a  sharp  question: 

"Which  way  did  Dudley  go?" 

"Down  the  pike,  then  over  the  hill  by  the 
wood  road,  sor — makin'  for  headquarters,"  the 
young  Irishman  answered,  only  too  glad  of  a 
chance  to  help  his  officer  out  of  what,  he  saw, 
was  a  frightful  situation. 

"How  long  ago?"  came  back  the  instant 
query. 

"Five  minutes,  sor.  Ye  cud  catch  him  wid 
/a  horse." 

"All,"  exclaimed  Morrison,  and  he  threw  up 
his  hand  to  his  men.  "Lieutenant  Harris," 
he  shouted.  "Take  a  squad  and  ride  to  camp 
by  the  wood  road.  Overtake  Corporal  Dudley 


168       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

or  intercept  him  at  headquarters.  Don't  fail.1 
Get  him  and  bring  him  here!" 

Lieutenant  Harris's  hand  went  up  to  his 
hat  in  ready  salute  and  he  bellowed  out  his 
orders. 

"Jennings!  Hewlett!  Brown!  Hammond! 
Burt!  'Bout  face.  Forward!"  Almost  be- 
fore the  words  were  out  of  his  mouth  Harris 
and  his  men  were  riding  madly  down  the  road 
in  a  chase,  which  the  Lieutenant  suspected, 
meant  something  more  to  his  colonel,  than 
merely  the  recovery  of  a  safe-conduct  for  a 
Confederate  officer  and  a  little  girl. 

Morrison  turned  to  Trooper  O'Connell  and 
jerked  his  thumb  towards  the  road. 

"Report  at  my  quarters  this  evening — at 
nine,"  he  said  curtly.  And  the  young  Irish- 
man, thankful  to  be  well  out  of  the  mess, 
quickly  clambered  over  the  wall  and  disap- 
peared though  not  without  a  soft  voiced  fare- 
well from  Virgie. 

"Good-by,  Mr.  Knapsack  Man,"  called  the 
child.  "Thank  you  for  the  biscuits." 

Then  Gary  came  forward  and  gripped  the 
other's  hand. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       169 

"Colonel,"  he  said  earnestly,  with  full  ap- 
preciation of  what  was  passing  through  Mor- 
rison's mind,  "I  hope  no  trouble  will  come  of 
this.  If  I  had  only  known  the  vindictiveness 
of  this  man — " 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  genially  object- 
ing hand  and  a  laugh  which  Morrison  was 
somehow  able  to  make  lighthearted. 

"Oh,  that  will  be  all  right.  Harris  will  get 
him — never  fear." 

"And  so,"  he  said,  addressing  Miss  Virginia, 
"that  bad  man  took  your  pass?" 

"Yes,  sir.  He  did,"  Virgie  answered,  and 
caught  his  hand  in  hers.  "He  ran  right  away 
with  it — mean  old  thing." 

"Well,  then — we'll  have  to  write  you  out 
another  one.  A  nice,  clean,  white  one  this 
time.  Come  on,  little  sweetheart.  We'll  do 
it  together,"  and  he  took  out  a  note  book  and 
pencil. 

"I  say,  Morrison,"  Gary  murmured,  glanc- 
ing apprehensively  at  the  troopers  idling  in  the 
road  and  very  plainly  interested  in  what  the 
small  group  were  doing,  "do  you  really 
think  you'd  better — on  your  own  account?" 


170       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

Again  Morrison's  hand  was  raised  in  polite 
objection.  He  had  taken  a  sporting  chance 
when  he  wrote  the  pass  which  had  been  stolen 
but  because  he  had  probably  lost  was  no  rea- 
son why  he  shouldn't  play  the  game  out  bravely 
to  the  end.  So  he  only  smiled  at  Virgie,  who 
came  and  sat  beside  him,  and  began  to  write 
the  few  short  sentences  of  his  second  safe-con- 
duct. But  while  he  wrote  he  was  talking  in 
low  tones  which  the  troopers  in  the  road  could 
not  hear. 

"There's  a  line  of  your  pickets  about  three 
miles  up  the  road,  Gary,"  said  he.  "If  I 
loaned  you  a  horse,  do  you  think  Virgie  could 
ride  behind  you?" 

"Me?"  pouted  Virgie.  "Why,  Daddy  says 
that  when  I  was  bornded,  I  came  ridin'  in  on 
a  stork." 

Morrison  burst  out  laughing  and  dropped 
his  hand  down  on  the  small  paw  resting  on 
his  knee. 

"Then,  by  St.  George  and  the  Dragon 
we'll  send  you  home  to  Jefferson  Davis  on  a 
snorting  Pegasus!" 

Again  Gary  spoke  to  him  in  warning  tones, 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       171 

which  at  the  same  time  thanked  him  unend- 
ingly for  the  kindly  thought. 

"You  needn't  trouble  about  the  mount. 
Why,  man,"  he  said  huskily,  "you're  in 
trouble  enough,  as  it  is!  And  if  our  lines  are 
as  close  as  you  say  they  are — " 

Once  more  the  Union  officer  checked  him. 

"It  isn't  any  trouble.  Only — you'll  have 
to  be  careful  of  your  approach,  even  to  your 
own  lines.  Those  gray  devils  in  the  rifle  pits 
up  there  have  formed  the  habit  of  shooting 
first  and  asking  questions  afterwards.  There 
you  are,"  and  he  tore  the  leaf  from  his  note 
book  and  handed  it  up  with  a  faint  smile. 

The  Southerner  took  it  with  a  reluctant 
hand. 

"I — I  wish  I  could  thank  you — Morrison," 
he  said  in  tones  that  shook  with  feeling, 
"but  you  see  I— I—" 

"Then  please  don't  try.  Because  if  you  do 
I'll — I'll  have  to  hold  Virgie  as  a  prisoner  of 
war. 

"Well,  young  one,"  he  said  to  the  small  Miss 
Gary  with  a  laugh,  "did  you  really  get  some- 
thins:  to  eat?" 


172       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"Yes,  sir.     That  is — we  almost  did." 

"Almost?"  he  echoed. 

"Yes,  sir,"  came  the  plaintive  answer. 
"Eve'y  time  we  start  to  eat — somethin'  always 
happens!" 

"Well,  well,  that  i*  hard  luck,"  he  said  with 
a  gentle  squeeze  of  her  frail  body.  "But  I'll 
bet  you  it  won't  happen  this  time;  not  if  a 
whole  regiment  tries  to  stop  it." 

"Come  on,"  he  suggested  as  he  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  began  picking  up  dry  twigs. 
"You  can  start  in  and  munch  on  those  heavenly 
biscuits  while  this  terrible  Yankee  builds  the 
fire."  Cary  made  a  move  as  if  to  help;  but 
Morrison  checked  him. 

"Oh,  no,  Gary,  just  you  keep  on  sitting 
still.  This  is  no  work  for  you.  You're  tired 
out. 

"Here,  Virgie,  I  know  you  want  to  get  me 
some  water  from  the  spring.  Please  pick  out 
the  cleanest  pieces  of  water  you  can  and  put 
them  carefully  in  the  coffee  pot.  All  right. 
There  you  are.  'Tention!  Carr-ee  coffee 
pot!  Right  wheel!  March!" 

With  a  carefree  laugh  he  turned  away  to 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       173 

light  the  little  heap  of  twigs  he  had  placed  be- 
tween two  flat  stones.  "It's  mighty  consider- 
ate of  my  boys  to  leave  us  all  these  things. 
We'll  call  it  the  raid  of  Black  Gum  Spring. 

"And  here  comes  the  little  lady  with  the 
coffee  pot  filled  just  right.  Now  watch  me 
pour  in  the  good  old  coffee — real  coffee, 
Virgie  dear — not  made  from  aco'ns."  He 
settled  the  pot  on  the  fire  and  sat  back  with  a 
grin.  "Oh,  oh!  Don't  watch  it,"  he  cried, 
in  well  feigned  alarm  as  Virgie,  unwilling 
to  believe  the  sight,  stooped  over  to  feast 
her  eyes  on  the  rich  brown  powder  sink- 
ing into  the  black  gulf  of  the  pot.  "If  you  do 
that  it  will  never,  never  boil!" 

"All  right,"  the  child  agreed  pathetically, 
and  she  sank  wearily  down  against  her  fa- 
ther's knee.  "I'll  just  pray  for  it  to  hurry 
up." 

The  two  men  exchanged  quiet  smiles  and 
Gary  murmured  something  in  his  daughter's 
ear. 

"Oh,  no,  I  won't,"  she  answered,  and  then 
looked  up  at  Morrison  with  a  roguish  light  in 
her  dark  eyes.  "He's  only  afraid  I'll  pray 


174       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

so  terribly  hard  that  the  old  coffee  pot  will 
boil  over  an'  put  out  the  fire." 

Morrison,  chuckling,  now  began  to  drag 
something  out  of  a  rear  pocket.  Presently, 
he  uncorked  it  and  held  it  up — a  flask! 

"Here,  Gary,"  he  said,  holding  out  a  cup. 
"Join  me,  won't  you?  Of  course,  you  under- 
stand— in  case  a  snake  should  bite  us." 

"Colonel  Morrison,"  responded  the  South- 
erner, "you  are  certainly  a  man  of  ideas." 

He  waited  for  his  foe  to  fill  his  own  cup, 
then  raised  his  in  a  toast: 

"I  drink  to  the  health,  sir,  of  you  and  yours. 
Here's  hoping  that  some  day  I  may  take  you 
prisoner!" 

At  the  quizzical  look  of  surprise  in  the 
other's  face  Gary's  voice  almost  broke. 

"I  mean,  sir,  it's  the  only  way  I  could  ever 
hope  to  show  you  how  much  I  appreciate — " 
!     He  stopped  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
•hands,  not  a  little  to  his  daughter's  alarm. 

"Come,  come,  old  chap,"  the  Northerner 
said  bluffly,  tapping  him  on  the  shoulder. 
"Brace  up.  It's  the  fortunes  of  war,  you 
know.  One  side  or  the  other  is  bound  to  win. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       175 

Perhaps — who  knows — it  may  be  your  turn 
to-morrow.  Well,  sir — here  goes.  May  it 
soon  be  over — in  the  way  that's  best  and  wisest 
for  us  all. 

"Now,  Virgie,"  he  went  on,  when  the  toast 
had  been  drunk,  "while  I  wash  these  cups  sup- 
pose you  go  on  another  voyage  of  discovery 
through  the  magic  knapsack  for  some  sugar 
for  the  coffee." 

He  watched  her  fling  herself  impetuously 
on  the  knapsack.  "If  you  find  any  Yankee 
spoons — put  them  under  arrest.  They  haven't 
any  pass  like  yours." 

Then  he  turned  to  Gary:  "Have  any  trouble 
on  the  road  as  you  came  along?" 

The  other  man  shook  his  head. 

"None  to  speak  of.  We  were  stopped  sev- 
eral  times  of  course,  but  each  time  your  pass 
let  us  through  without  delay — until  we  met 
Dudley.  And  now  I'm  worried,  Colonel,"  he 
said  frankly,  while  his  eyes  tried  to  tell  the 
other  all  that  he  feared  without  putting  it  in 
words,  "worried  on  your  account.  It's  easy 
to  see  that  the  man  has  a  grudge  against 
you—" 


176       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"Yes,  I'm  afraid  he  has,"  was  the  thought- 
ful reply.  "But  really,  Gary,  you  mustn't  try 
to  carry  any  more  burdens  than  your  own,  just 
now.  I  know  what  you  mean  and  what,  I 
daresay,  you'd  be  only  too  willing  to  do,  but 
I  can't  permit  it." 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  spectacle  of 
Virgie  standing  before  them  with  anxiously 
furrowed  brow,  a  paper  bag  in  one  hand  and 
three  spoons  clutched  in  the  other. 

"But  Colonel  Morrison,"  she  was  saying  in 
tragic  tones,  "there  isn't  a  drop  of  milk." 

"Milk!"  he  cried  in  mock  despair.  "Well, 
dash  my  buttons  if  I  didn't  forget  to  order  a 


cow." 


"Oh,  I  know  what  to  do,"  cried  the  child. 
Dropping  her  supplies  and  utensils  she  ran  to 
the  wall  and  climbed  up. 

"Hey,  there,  you"  commanded  the  small 
general  with  an  imperious  gesture  to  the  as- 
sembled troopers.  "One  of  you  men  ride 
right  over  to  camp  and  bring  us  back  some 
milk — an'  butter." 

At  this  abrupt  demand  of  so  small  a  rebel 
on  the  commissary  of  the  United  States  a  roar 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       177 

of  laughter  went  up  from  the  troopers,  though 
some  of  them  had  the  grace  to  salute  and  so 
relieve  the  child  of  embarrassment. 

"Virgie!  Virgiel"  called  her  father,  scan- 
dalized. 

"It's  all  right,  Gary,"  Morrison  laughed. 
"She's  only  starting  in  at  giving  orders  a  little 
earlier  than  most  women. 

"Never  you  mind,  Miss  Brigadier,"  he  com- 
forted. "We'll  have  all  those  luxuries  next 
time,  or  when  I  come  to  see  you  in  Richmond 
after  the  war  is  over.  Just  now  we'll  do  the 
best  we  can.  Come  along." 

Virgie  got  down  from  the  wall  and  pattered 
up  to  the  fire. 

"Is  it  ready  yet?"  she  asked  with  the  perfect 
directness  of  seven  years. 

"In  a  minute  now.  Ah-hah!  There  she 
goes." 

He  took  the  pot  from  the  fire  and  set  it 
down  on  a  rock  where,  presently,  he  brought  a 
cupful  of  cold  water  to  pour  m. 

"Is  that  to  settle  it?"  she  asked  of  her 
father. 

"Yes,  child — and  I  wish  all  our  questions 


178       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

were  as  easily  cleared  up.  And  now — to  the 
attack." 

"Right-o.  Virgie — pass  the  beautiful, 
hand  painted  china  and  let's  fill  up.  This  one 
for  your  daddy — you  can  put  the  sugar  in. 
Only  don't  burn  those  precious  fingers." 

Virgie  carried  the  steaming  cup  to  her 
father  and  put  it  in  his  hands  with  shining 
eyes. 

"This  is  better  than  our  old  belt  supper, 
Daddy,  isn't  it?"  she  said,  with  a  flirt  of  her 
tangled  curls.  "Anyway — it  smells  nicer." 

She  was  back  at  the  sugar  bag  at  once,  dig- 
ging out  spoonfuls  for  Morrison's  coffee. 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Gary,  I  am  indeed 
obliged  to  you.  Now  do  sit  down  and  eat. 
No,  not  another  word  till  you've  eaten  two 
whole  biscuits!" 

For  several  ecstatic  moments  the  child 
munched  her  biscuits.  It  had  been  a  long 
time  since  she  had  eaten  anything  so  delicious, 
although  if  those  same  biscuits  had  appeared 
on  the  Gary  table  a  month  ago  they  would 
have  probably  been  scorned.  But  eager  as 
her  appetite  was  it  did  not  stop  the  active 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       179 

workings  of  her  mind  and  she  presently  was 
struck  by  an  idea  which  tried  to  force  itself 
out  through  a  mouthful  of  biscuit — with  the 
usual  amusing  results. 

"Virginia!"  admonished  her  father. 

Morrison  laughed  out  like  a  boy  and  slapped 
his  knee. 

"Suppose  we  swallow — and  try  again." 

Virgie,  thus  adjured,  concentrated  her  mind 
on  the  task — gulped,  blinked,  swallowed  with 
pathetically  straining  eyes,  and  then  smiled 
triumphantly. 

"Excuse  me,  Daddy.  I  guess  I  wasn't  very 
polite." 

"Apology  accepted.  What  were  you  going 
to  say?" 

The  child  looked  up  with  a  sweetly  serious 
look  in  her  eyes  that  the  two  men  recognized 
as  the  forerunner  of  true  womanly  thought 
for  others. 

"I  was  only  goin'  to  ask  the  Colonel  if  he 
didn't  think  his  men  out  there  would  like  some 
of  these  lieavingly  things  to  eat?"  she  said 
plaintively.  "It  must  be  terrible — jus'  to  look 
onl" 


180       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"Well,  bless  your  little  heart,"  the  North- 
erner cried.  "But  don't  you  worry  about  the 
boys.  They'll  have  theirs  when  they  get  back 
to  camp.  Go  on  and  eat,  Virgie.  Stuff  in 
another  biscuit.  And,  look!  By  Jupiter. 
Butter!" 

Evidently  Trooper  O'Connell  during  the 
past  twenty-four  hours  had  foraged  or  blar- 
neyed most  successfully  for  out  of  the  knap- 
sack which  he  had  left  behind  Morrison  sud- 
denly produced  a  small  earthenware  jam  jar 
in  which  was  something  now  indubitably 
liquid  in  form  but  none  the  less  sweet,  yellow, 
appetizing  butter.  Pouring  a  little  on  a  bis- 
cuit he  held  it  out  to  her,  speculating  on  what 
she  would  say. 

The  tot  took  it  hungrily  and  raised  it  to  her 
lips,  her  eyes  shining  and  her  face  glowing 
with  anticipation.  Then  she  paused  and,  with 
a  little  cry  of  vexation  over  her  selfishness, 
held  out  the  biscuit  to  her  father. 

"Here,  Daddy,"  she  said.  "You  take  this 
— because  you  tried  to  bring  me  somethin* 
good  to  eat  yesterday." 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       181 

The  father  threw  a  look  at  Morrison  and 
caught  Virgie  to  him  in  a  swift  embrace. 

"No,  dear,"  he  said.  "Eat  your  nice  but- 
tered biscuit  and  thank  the  good  Lord  for  it. 
Your  father  will  get  more  fun  out  of  seeing 
you  eat  that  little  bit  than  he  would  out  of 
owning  a  whole  cellar  of  big  stone  crocks  jam 
full.  Do  you  know — I  think  when  we  get  up 
to  Richmond  you'll  have  to  write  a  letter  to 
the  Colonel — a  nice  long  letter,  thanking 
him  for  all  he's  done.  Won't  you?" 

There  was  a  pause  for  a  moment  as  the  child 
looked  over  at  Morrison,  revolving  the  thought 
in  her  mind. 

The  Union  officer  had  passed  into  a  sudden 
reverie,  the  hand  holding  his  coffee  cup  hang- 
ing listlessly  over  his  knee.  He  was  thinking 
of  another  little  girl,  and  one  as  dear  to  him  as 
this  man's  child  was  to  her  father.  He  was 
wondering  if  the  fortunes  of  war  would  ever 
let  him  see  her  face  again  or  hear  her  voice — 
or  feel  her  chubby  arms  around  his  neck.  She 
was  very,  very  far  away — well  cared  for,  it 
was  true,  but  he  knew  only  too  well  that  it 


182       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

would  need  but  one  malignant  leaden  missile 
to  make  her  future  life  as  full  of  hardships  as 
those  which  the  little  tot  beside  him  was  pass- 
ing through  to-day.  So  much,  at  least,  for 
the  ordinary  chances  of  war — he  was  begin- 
ning to  wonder  how  much  had  been  added  to 
these  perils  by  the  matter  of  the  pass  and 
whether  his  superiors  would  see  the  situation 
as  it  had  appeared  to  his  eyes. 

Into  this  sad  reverie  Virgie's  soft  voice 
entered  with  a  gentleness  which  roused  but 
did  not  startle  him.  When  she  spoke,  it 
seemed  as  if  some  subtle  thought-current  be- 
tween their  minds  had  put  the  subject  of  his 
dreams  into  the  child's  mind. 

"Do  you  reckon,"  the  child  said,  curiously, 
"that  Gertrude  is  havin'  her  supper  now?" 

The  Union  officer  looked  up  with  eyes  that 
mutely  blessed  her. 

"Yes,  dear,  I  was  thinking  of  her — and 
her  mother." 

Again  he  was  silent  for  a  space,  and  when 
he  spoke,  his  voice  was  dreamy,  tender,  as  he 
seemed  to  look  with  unseeing  eyes  far  into  the 
Northland  where  dwelt  the  people  of  his  heart. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       183 

"Do  you  know,  Gary,  this  war  for  us,  the 
men,  may  be  a  hell,  but  what  is  it  for  those  we 
leave  at  home?  The  women!  Who  wait — 
and  watch — and  too  often  watch  in  vain.  We 
have  the  excitement  of  it — the  rush — the  bat' 
ties — and  we  think  that  ours  is  the  harder  part 
when,  in  reality,  we  make  our  loved  ones'  lives 
a  deeper,  blacker  hell  than  our  own.  Theirs 
to  watch  and  listen  with  the  love  hunger  in 
their  hearts,  month  in,  month  out  and  often 
without  a  word!  Theirs  to  starve  on  the 
crusts  of  hope!  Waiting — always  waiting! 
Hunting  the  papers  for  the  thing  they  dread 
to  find ;  a  name  among  the  missing.  A  name 
among  the  dead  I  Good  God !  When  I  think 
of  it  sometimes — "  Morrison  dropped  his 
head  between  his  clenched  fists  and  groaned. 

"Yes,  yes,  old  fellow,  I  know,"  the  other 
man  answered,  for  in  truth  he  did  know,  "but 
I  want  you  to  remember  that  for  you  the  crusts 
of  hope  will  some  day  be  the  bread  of  life — 
and  love." 

Slowly  the  Northerner's  face  came  up  out 
of  his  hands  and  he  seemed  to  take  heart  again. 
After  all,  he  had  led  a  charmed  life  so  far — 


perhaps  the  God  of  Battles  had  written  his 
name  among  those  who  would  some  day  go 
back  to  live  the  life  for  which  the  Almighty 
made  them.  God  grant  then  that  he  might 
have  for  his  friend  this  man  who,  in  the  time 
of  his  own  greater  grief,  was  unselfish  enough 
to  console  him.  Ah!  If  God  would  only 
grant  that  from  this  day  on  there  would  be  no 
more  of  this  hideous  fighting.  Morrison's 
eyes  met  the  other's  and  he  put  out  his 
hand. 

Suddenly  there  came  the  sound  of  a  shot. 
Another  and  another — then  a  volley,  which 
almost  at  once  became  a  continuous  rattle  of 
musketry. 

The  Northerner  sprang  to  his  feet.  "H — II 
there  go  your  pickets." 

Struck  dumb  by  this  sudden  return  to  the 
actualities  of  life  the  two  men  stood  motion- 
less, listening  for  every  sound  which  might  tell 
them  what  it  meant.  For  a  little  while  they 
had  dreamed  the  dream  of  peace  only  to  have 
it  rudely  shattered. 

But  Virgie  had  not  followed  them  in  their 
dreams,  for  she  was  an  extremely  practical 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       185 

young  lady.  Having  seen  food,  real  food, 
vanish  away  before  her  very  eyes  several  times 
already  she  was  quite  prepared  to  see  it  hap- 
pen again. 

"There!"  she  said,  in  tones  in  which  prophecy 
and  resignation  were  oddly  mingled.  "Didn't 
I  jus'  know  somethin'  was  goin'  to  happen!" 

By  this  time  Morrison  had  run  to  the  stone 
wall  and  sprung  to  its  top.  Out  in  the  road 
the  troopers  had  mounted  without  waiting  for 
command  and  with  one  accord  had  faced  to- 
wards the  firing. 

"Can  you  see  anything?"  Gary  called. 

"Not  yet,"  said  Morrison.  "I  guess  we 
came  too  close  to  your  nest — and  the  hornets 
are  coming  out." 

"Turner!"  he  commanded,  and  a  trooper's 
hand  went  up,  "ride  up  to  the  fork  of  the  road. 
Learn  what  you  can  and  report." 

As  the  cavalryman  struck  his  heels  into  his 
horse's  sides  and  dashed  up  the  road  Gary  put 
the  wishes  of  both  men  into  words. 

"It's  too  near  sundown  for  a  battle.  It  will 
only  be  a  skirmish." 

"Ye-e-e-s,    possibly,"    the    Northerner   as- 


186       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

sented,  and  he  looked  thoughtfully  at  Virgie, 
"but  still—" 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  can't  send  you  forward  now — in  the  face 
of  that  fire.     And,  for  that  matter,  I  can't! 
send  you  to  the  rear.     In  five  minutes  this 
road  will  be  glutted  with  cavalry  and  guns." 

"Never  mind,  Morrison,"  the  Southerner 
returned.  "I  couldn't  go  now — anyway." 

"Why?" 

Gary  opened  out  his  hands  in  a  simple  ges- 
ture. "Because,  in  case  of  trouble  for  you  at 

•I 

headquarters,  I'm  still  your  prisoner."  With 
his  eyes  brave  and  steady  on  the  others  he  took 
the  newly  written  pass  from  his  breast — and 
tore  it  in  pieces.  "When  you  want  me,"  he 
said,  "you'll  find  me — here/' 

If  there  had  been  time  for  argument  Mor- 
rison would  have  hotly  protested  against  such 
self-sacrifice,  but  events  were  crowding  upon 
them  too  fast.  From  down  the  road  came  the 
sound  of  furious  galloping.  Almost  at  once 
Lieutenant  Harris,  riding  hard  at  the  head 
of  a  troop  of  cavalry,  swept  round  the  curve 
and  drew  his  horse  upon  his  haunches. 


"Colonel  Morrison!"  he  shouted.  "You  are 
ordered — " 

"One  moment,  Lieutenant,"  interrupted 
Morrison  in  tones  so  even  that  Gary  marveled 
at  his  composure,  "Did  you  get  Corporal 
Dudley?" 

Gary's  ears  ached  for  the  answer.  He 
knew  just  as  well  as  the  questioner  the  danger 
which  might  now  be  disclosed  or  be  forever  for- 
gotten and  his  heart  went  out  to  the  other  in 
this  moment  of  hideous  suspense. 

There  was  an  instant  of  hesitation  and  then 
came  the  answer. 

"No,  sir!  We  tried  hard  but  couldn't  make 
it." 

Morrison's  face  did  not  change  but  his  hands 
tightened  until  the  nails  dug  deep  into  his 
palms.  He  had  played — and  lost. 

"Go  on  with  your  report,"  he  said. 

Harris  pulled  in  his  fretting  horse  and  de- 
livered his  significant  news. 

"The  Rebels  are  advancing  in  force.  I  was 
sent  back  to  you  with  orders  to  join  Major 
Foster  at  the  fork  and  hold  the  road  at  any 
cost.  Two  light  field  pieces  are  coming  to 


188       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

your  support.  Our  main  batteries  are  back" 
there — in  the  woods." 

"Right,"  said  Morrison,  "we  go  at  once." 
Turning  back  to  Virgie  he  caught  her  up  in 
his  arms  and  kissed  her.  "Good-by,  little 
sweetheart.  Hide  under  the  rocks  and  keep 
close." 

"Good-by,  Morrison,"  Gary  said,  as  they 
struck  hands.  "I  can't  wish  you  luck — but 
our  hearts  are  with  you  as  a  man." 

"Thanks,  old  fellow,"  said  the  enemy,  as  he 
sprang  over  the  wall.  "It  helps — God 
knows." 

He  caught  at  his  horse's  mane  and  threw 
himself  into  the  saddle  without  touching  the 
stirrup,  while  his  voice  roared  out  his  com- 
mand. 

"Ready,  men!    Forward!" 

"Good-by,"  shrilled  Virgie  in  her  child- 
ish treble.  "Good-by,  Colonel!  Don't  get 
hurt." 

"Daddy!"  she  cried,  as  they  crouched  down 
in  their  hiding  place  behind  tlhe  wall.  "Is 
there  going  to  be  a — a  battle?'3 


"Only  a  little  one.  But  you  won't  be 
afraid." 

A  rattle  of  approaching  wheels  came  from 
down  the  road,  the  shock  of  steel  tires  striking 
viciously  against  the  stones,  the  cries  and  oaths 
of  the  drivers  urging  the  horses  forward. 

"Look!"  cried  Gary,  springing  to  his  feet 
in  spite  of  the  danger  in  which  his  gray  uni- 
form placed  him.  "Here  come  the  field  pieces. 
In  a  minute  now  the  dogs  will  begin  to  bark." 

With  a  roar  of  wheels  and  a  clash  of  harness 
and  accouterments  the  guns  rushed  by  while 
the  child  stared  and  stared,  her  big  eyes  almost 
starting  out  of  her  face. 

"The  dogs!"  she  said  in  wonder.  "There 
wasn't  a  single  dog  there !" 

"Another  kind  of  dog,"  her  father  said  with 
a  meaning  look.  "And  their  teeth  are  very 
long.  Ah !  There  they  go !  Over  yonder  on 
the  hill — in  the  edge  of  the  woods.  The  Yan- 
kee dogs  are  barking.  Now  listen  for  the  an- 
swer." 

Together  they  listened,  father  and  daughter, 
with  straining  ears — listened  for  the  defiant 


reply  of  those  men  who,  being  Americans, 
were  never  beaten  until  hunger  and  superioi 
numbers  forced  them  to  the  wall. 

"Boom!"  A  great,  ear-filling  sound  crashed 
over  the  hills  and  rolled,  echoing,  through  the 
woods. 

"That's  us!  That's  us!"  the  man  cried  out 
exultantly,  while  he  caught  the  child  closer  in 
his  arms.  "Hear  our  people  talking,  honey? 
Hear  'em  talk!" 

But  overhead  something  was  coming 
through  the  air  and  the  child  shrank  down  in 
terror — something  that  whined  and  screamed 
as  it  sped  on  its  dreadful  way  and  seemed  like 
a  demon  out  of  hell  searching  for  his  prey. 

"Lord  a'  mercy,  Daddy!"  the  child  cried  out. 
"What's  that?" 

He  patted  her  head  consolingly.  "Nothing 
at  all  but  a  shell.  They  sound  much  worse 
than  they  really  are.  Don't  be  afraid.  Noth- 
ing will  hurt  you." 

From  the  forks  of  the  road  the  sound  of 
yolley  firing  grew  stronger  and,  as  if  in  re- 
sponse, the  road  to  the  Union  rear  now  turned 
jinto  a  stream  of  living  blue,  with  cavalry 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       191 

madly  galloping  and  sweating  infantry  hurry- 
ing forward  as  fast  as  their  legs  could  carry 
them. 

"Look,  Virgie,  look!"  her  father  cried,  hold- 
ing her  head  a  little  way  above  the  wall.  "See 
those  bayonets  shining  back  there  across  the 
road.  A  whole  regiment  of  infantry.  And 
they're  going  up  against  our  men  across  an 
open  field!  By  Jiminy,  but  those  Yanks  will 
get  a  mustard  bath.  Ah-hah!"  he  chortled,  as 
a  roar  of  musketry  broke  out.  "I  told  you  so! 
Our  boys  are  after  them.  Good  work!  Good 
work!" 

But  again  a  shell  passed  over  them  and 
again  the  world  was  filled  with  that  awful 
whining,  shrieking  sound. 

"Daddy,"  the  child  cried,  with  quivering 
lips,  but  still  dry  eyed.  "I  don't  like  those 
things.  I  don't  like  'em." 

"There,  there,  darling,"  he  comforted  as 
they  shrank  closer  under  the  protection  of  the 
wall.  "Keep  down  under  my  arm  and  they 
won't  bother  you." 

As  he  spoke  a  twig  with  a  fresh  yellow  break 
in  it  fell  from  a  tree  and  struck  his  upturned 


192       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

face.  He  winced  at  the  thought  that  the  bul- 
let might  have  flown  a  few  feet  lower.  And 
meanwhile  the  sound  of  the  firing  came  steadily 
closer. 

"By  Jove!"  he  murmured  to  himself,  "it's  a 
bigger  rumpus  than  I  thought.'* 

This  indeed  was  true.  What  had  at  first 
promised  to  be  only  a  skirmish  between  the 
outposts  of  the  two  entrenched  armies,  now 
developed  into  a  general  engagement  covering 
a  space  of  half  a  mile  along  the  line.  A  re- 
connoitering  force  of  Federal  cavalry  had  rid- 
den too  close  to  the  rifle  pits  of  the  Confeder- 
ates, and,  as  Morrison  himself  expressed  it, 
"the  hornets  came  out  and  began  to  sting." 

Major  Foster,  commanding  a  larger  force 
of  cavalry,  rode  out  in  support  of  his  recon- 
noitering  party,  and  found  himself  opposed, 
not  by  a  straggling  line  of  Rebel  pickets,  but 
by  a  moving  wall  of  tattered  gray,  the  units  of 
which  advanced  on  a  low-bent  run,  crouching 
behind  some  bush  or  stone,  to  fire,  reload  and 
advance  again. 

An  aide  raced  back  to  the  Union  lines  to  ask 
for  help  in  support  of  Foster's  slender  force 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       193 

of  cavalry ;  and  thus  the  order  came  to  Morri- 
son to  join  the  detachment  and  hold  the  enemy 
until  reinforcements  could  be  formed  and 
pushed  to  the  firing  line. 

The  delay,  however,  was  well  nigh  fatal  for 
Morrison  and  Major  Foster,  and  from  the 
point  where  Gary  and  little  Virgie  watched, 
the  case  of  the  Union  horsemen  seemed  an 
evil  one.  True,  that  infantry  and  guns  were 
soon  advancing  to  their  aid  on  a  "double- 
quick";  yet  all  the  advantage  seemed  to  lie 
with  the  ragged,  sharp-shooting  Southern- 
ers. 

The  crackle  of  musketry  increased ;  the  dust 
rolled  up  and  intermingled  with  the  wreathes 
of  drifting  smoke,  and  through  it  came  the  vi- 
cious whine  of  leaden  messengers  of  death. 

Then,  borne  on  the  wind,  came  a  sound  that 
he  would  know  till  his  dying  day — the  rebel 
yell.  An  exultant  scream, — a  cry  of  unend- 
ing hate,  defiance,  victory! 

He  sprang  to  his  feet.  Off  came  the  bat- 
tered old  campaign  hat  and  unmindful  that  he 
stood  there  hidden  in  the  woods  and  that  his 
voice  could  carry  only  a  few  yards  against 


194.       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

the  roar  of  battle,  he  swung  it  over  his  head 
and  shouted  out  his  encouragement. 

"God!  We're  whipping  'em.  Virgie,  do 
you  hear?  We're  getting  them  on  the  run. 
Come  on,  boys!  Come  on!" 

He  felt  her  clutch  on  his  sleeve.  With 
wide  eyes  grown  darker  than  ever  with  excite- 
ment, she  asked  her  piteous  question. 

"Daddy!     Will  they  kill  the  Colonel?" 

For  a  moment  he  could  not  answer.  Then, 
with  a  groan  he  gave  back  his  answer:  "I 
hope  not,  darling.  I  hope  not!" 

Down  the  road  a  riderless  horse  was  com- 
ing, head  up  and  stirrups  flying.     As  it  gal- 
loped past  Gary  scrutinized  it  closely  and  was 
glad  he  did  not  recognize  it.     In  its  wake 
came  soldiers,  infantry  and  dismounted  cav- 
alry,   firing,    retreating,    loading   and   firing 
again,  but  always  retreating. 
.     "Here    come    the    stragglers,"    he    cried. 
("We're  whipping  'em!     Close,  darling,  close. 
Lie  down  against  the  wall." 

He  crouched  above  her,  shielding  her  as  best 
he  could  with  his  body.  Then,  suddenly,  a 
man  in  blue  leaped  on  the  wall  not  ten  feet 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       195 

away.  He  had  meant  to  seize  the  wall  as  a 
breastwork  and  fight  from  behind  it,  but 
before  he  dropped  down  he  would  fire  one  last 
shot.  His  gun  came  up  to  his  shoulder — he 
aimed  at  some  unseen  foe  and  fired.  But  from 
somewhere,  out  of  the  crash  of  sound  and  the 
rolling  powder  smoke,  a  singing  missile  came 
and  found  its  mark.  The  man  in  blue  bent 
over  suddenly,  wavered,  then  toppled  down 
inside  the  wall,  his  gun  ringing  on  the  stones 
as  he  fell. 

"Daddy!"  the  child  whispered,  with  ashen 
face,  "it's  the  biscuit  man.  It's  HARRY!" 

Her  father's  hand  went  out  instinctively  to 
cover  her  eyes.  "Don't  look,  dear!  Don't 
look!" 

The  road  was  choked  now.  Cavalry  and 
infantry,  all  in  a  mad  rush  for  the  rear,  were 
tearing  by  while  the  two  field  pieces  which  but 
a  moment  ago  had  gone  into  action  with  such 
a  deadly  whirl  came  limping  back  with  slashed 
traces  and  splintered  wheels.  With  fascinated 
eyes  the  Rebel  officer  watched  from  behind 
his  wall,  while  everything,  even  his  child,  was 
forgotten  in  the  lust  for  victory.  And  so  he 


196       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

did  not  hear  the  faint  voice  behind  him  that 
cried  out  in  an  agony  of  thirst  and  pain. 

"Water!  Water!  In  God's  name- 
water  !" 

Virgie,  with  dilated  eyes  and  heaving  breast, 
crouched  low  as  long  as  she  could  and  then 
gave  up  everything  to  the  pitiful  appeal  ring- 
ing in  her  ears.  Quick  as  a  flash,  she  sped 
away  on  bare  feet  over  rocks  and  sharp,  pointed 
branches  of  fallen  trees  to  the  spring,  where 
she  caught  up  a  cup  and  filled  it  to  the  brim. 
Another  swift  rush  and  she  reached  the  fallen 
man  in  blue  and  had  the  cup  at  his  lips,  while 
her  arm  went  under  his  head  to  lift  it. 

"Virgie!"  her  father  cried,  frantic  at  the 
sight.  With  a  great  leap  he  was  at  her  side, 
forcing  her  down  to  the  ground  and  covering 
her  with  his  body. 

The  trooper's  head  sank  back  and  his  eyes 
began  to  dull. 

"May  God  bless  ye,  little  one,"  he  mur- 
mured. "Heaven — Mary — !"  His  lips  gave 
out  one  long,  shuddering  sigh.  His  body 
grew  slack  and  his  chin  fell.  Trooper  Harry 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       197 

O'Connell    had    fought   his   last   fight — had 
passed  to  his  final  review. 

One  look  at  the  boyish  face  so  suddenly 
gone  gray  and  bloodless  and  Gary  caught 
Virgie  up  in  his  arms.  "Come  dear,  you  can't 
help  him  any  more,"  and  with  a  crouching  run 
they  were  back  once  more  in  the  shelter  of  the 
wall. 

And  now  the  shriek  of  the  shells  and  the 
whine  of  the  bullets  came  shriller  than  before. 
All  around  them  the  twigs  were  dropping, 
while  the  acrid  powder  smoke  rolled  in  through 
the  trees  and  burnt  their  eyes  and  throats. 
Again  came  men  in  blue  retreating  and  among 
them  an  officer  on  horseback,  wheeling  his 
animal  madly  around  among  them  and  shout- 
ing encouragement  as  he  tried  to  face  them 
to  the  front.  "Keep  at  it,  men,"  Morrison 
was  crying,  half  mad  with  rage.  "One 
decent  stand  and  we  can  hold  them.  Give  it 
to  them  hard.  Stand,  I  tell  you.  Stand!" 

All  around  him,  however,  men  were  falling 
and  those  who  were  left  began  to  waver. 
"Steady,  men!  Don't  flinch,"  came  the  shout 


198       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

again.  "Ah-hah,  you  would,  would  you? 
Coward!" 

Morrison's  sword  held  flatwise,  thudded 
down  on  the  back  of  a  man  who  had  flung 
away  his  gun.  "Get  back  in  the  fight,  you 
dog!  Get  back!" 

He  whipped  out  his  revolver  and  pointed 
it  till  the  gun  had  been  snatched  up,  then  fired 
all  its  chambers  at  the  oncoming  hordes  in 
gray. 

"One  more  stand,"  he  yelled.  "One 
more — " 

Beside  him  the  color  sergeant  gave  a  moan 
and  bent  in  the  middle  like  a  hinge.  Another 
slackening  of  his  body  and  the  stricken  bearer 
of  the  flag  plunged  from  his  saddle,  the  colors 
trailing  in  the  dust. 

Morrison  spurred  his  mount  toward  the 
fallen  man,  bending  to  grasp  the  colors  from 
the  tight  gripped  hand;  but  even  as  he  bent, 
his  horse  went  down.  He  leaped  to  save  him- 
self, then  turned  once  more,  snatched  at  the 
flag  of  his  routed  regiment  and  waved  it  above 
his  head. 

"Stand,  boys,  and  give  'em  hell!" 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       199 

A  shout  went  up — not  from  the  men  he 
sought  to  rally  to  his  flag,  but  from  those  who 
would  win  it  at  a  cost  of  blood,  for  his  troopers 
were  running  on  a  backward  road,  and  Morri- 
son fought  alone.  The  "gray  devils"  were  all 
around  him  now,  and  he  backed  against  the 
wall,  fighting  till  his  sword  was  sent  spinning 
from  his  fist  by  the  blow  of  a  musket  butt; 
then,  grasping  the  color-pole  in  both  his  hands, 
he  parried  bayonet  thrusts  and  saber  strokes, 
panting,  breathing  in  hot,  labored  gasps,  and 
cursing  his  enemies  from  a  hoarse,  parched 
throat. 

A  hideous,  unequal  fight  it  was,  and  soon 
Lieutenant-Colonel  Morrison  must  fall  as  his 
colors  fell  and  be  trampled  in  the  dust;  yet 
now  through  an  eddying  drift  of  smoke  came 
another  ragged  Southerner,  a  grim,  gaunt  man 
whose  voice  was  as  hoarse  as  Morrison's,  who 
had  grasped  a  saber  from  the  blood  stained 
rocks  and  waved  it  above  his  head. 

"Back,  boys!    Don't  kill  that  man!" 

Among  them  he  plunged  till  he  reached  the 
side  of  Morrison,  then  turned  and  faced  the 
brothers  of  his  country  and  his  State.  With 


200       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

a  downward  stroke  he  arrested  a  saber  thrust, 
and  then  struck  upward  at  a  rifle's  mouth  as  it 
spit  its  deadly  flame. 

"Don't  kill  him !    Do  you  hear?"  he  cried,  as| 
he  beat  at  the  bayonet  points.     "I'm  Gary! 
Herbert  Gary! — on  the  staff  of  General  Lee!" 

For  an  instant  the  attacking  Southerners 
stood  aghast  at  the  sight  of  this  raging  man  in 
gray  who  defended  a  Yankee  officer;  and  yet 
he  had  made  no  saber  stroke  to  wound  or  kill ; 
instead,  his  weapon  had  come  between  their 
own  and  the  life  of  a  well-nigh  helpless  foe. 
For  a  moment  more  they  paused  and  looked 
with  wondering  eyes,  and  in  that  moment  their 
victory  was  changed  to  rout. 

A  bugle  blared.  A  thundering  rush  of 
hoof  beats  sounded  on  the  road,  and  the  Union 
reinforcements  swept  around  the  curve.  Six 
abreast  they  came,  a  regiment  of  strong, 
straight  riders,  hungry  for  battle,  hot  to  re- 
trieve the  losing  fortune  of  the  day.  The 
road  was  too  narrow  for  a  concentrated  rush, 
so  they  streamed  into  the  fields  on  either  side, 
re-formed,  and  swept  like  an  avalanche  of  blue 
upon  their  prey.  The  guns  in  the  woods  now 


" — the  little  rebel's  right  again.     He  isn't  here!" 


'Isn't  the  pass  satisfactory?" 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       201 

thundered  forth  afresh,  their  echoes  rolling  out 
across  the  hills,  and  the  attacking  Rebels 
turned  and  fled,  like  leaves  before  a  storm. 

On  one  side  of  the  road,  Morrison  and  Gary 
shrank  down  beside  the  wall  to  let  the  Union 
riders  pass;  on  the  other,  all  that  was  left  of 
the  Rebel  force  ran  helter-skelter  for  a  screen 
of  protecting  trees.  But  before  the  last  one 
disappeared  he  threw  up  his  gun  and  fired, 
haphazard,  in  the  direction  whence  he  had 
come. 

As  if  in  reply  came  the  sound  of  a  saber 
falling  from  a  man's  hand  and  striking  on  a 
stone.  Under  his  very  eyes  and  just  as  he 
was  putting  out  his  hand  to  grip  the  others 
Morrison  saw  Herbert  Gary  sinking  slowly  to 
the  ground. 

And  then,  through  the  yellow  dust  clouds 
and  the  powder  smoke  and  all  the  horrid  reek 
of  war,  a  child  came  running  with  outstretched 
•arms  and  piteous  voice — a  frightened  child, 
weeping  for  the  father  who  had  thrown  him- 
self headlong  into  peril  to  save  another's  life 
and  who,  perhaps,  had  lost  his  own. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  headquarters  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 
on  the  morning  of  August  4,  1864,  were  at 
City  Point  near  where  the  Appomattox  meets 
the  James.  Here  the  grim,  silent  man  in 
whose  hands  lay  the  destinies  of  the  United 
States  sent  out  the  telegrams  which  kept  the 
Federal  forces  gnawing  at  the  cage  in  which 
Lee  had  shut  himself  and  meanwhile  held  to 
his  strategic  position  south  of  Richmond.  To 
his  left  and  west  lay  Petersburg  still  uncon- 
quered,  but  Petersburg  could  wait,  for  Early's 
gray  clad  troopers  were  scourging  the  Shenan- 
doah  and  the  menace  must  be  removed.  To 
this  end  Grant  had  sent  a  telegram  to  Wash- 
ington three  days  before  expressing  in  unmis- 
takable terms  what  he  wished  General  Sheri-' 
dan  and  his  cavalry  to  accomplish.  They  were 
to  go  over  into  the  Shenandoah  and,  putting 
themselves  south  of  the  enemy,  follow  him  to 
the  death.  To  which  telegram  the  tall,  lank, 

203 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       203 

furrow-faced  man  in  the  White  House  whose 
kindly  heart  was  bursting  with  the  strain  re- 
plied in  characteristic  fashion  and  told  him 
that  his  purpose  was  exactly  right.  And 
then,  with  a  gleam  of  humor,  warned  him 
against  influences  in  Washington  which  would 
prevent  its  carrying  out  unless  he  forced  it. 

This  message  had  come  but  a  few  minutes 
before  and  it  had  been  received  with  silent 
satisfaction  for  Grant  knew  now  that  Abra- 
ham Lincoln  and  he  were  in  perfect  accord 
as  to  the  means  for  swiftly  bringing  on  the 
end.  But  the  plans  must  be  well  laid  and  to 
that  end  he  must  leave  City  Point  within  a  few 
hours  and  go  north.  And  so  he  was  standing 
at  a  window  of  his  headquarters  this  morning 
with  his  eyes  resting  unseeingly  on  the  camp, 
while  his  cool,  quiet  mind  steadily  forged  out 
his  schemes. 

Unlike  the  headquarters  of  "play"  armies 
where  all  is  noise  and  confusion  and  bloodied 
orderlies  throw  themselves  off  of  plunging 
horses  and  gasp  out  their  reports,  the  room  in 
which  General  Grant  did  his  work  was 
strangely  quiet. 


204,       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

It  was  a  large,  square  room  with  high  ceil- 
ing and  wall  paper  which  had  defied  all  the 
arts  of  Europe  to  render  interesting  in  design. 
Furniture  was  neither  plentiful  nor  comforta- 
ble— a  slippery,  black  horse-hair  sofa,  a  few 
horse-hair  chairs  and,  at  one  side  of  the  room, 
a  table  and  a  desk,  littered  with  papers,  maps 
and  files.  At  the  table  Grant's  adjutant, 
Forbes,  sat  writing.  Facing  him  was  the 
door  opening  out  into  the  hallway  of  the 
house  where  two  sentries  stood  on  guard.  In 
the  silence  which  pervaded  the  room  and  in  the 
quiet  application  to  the  work  in  hand  there 
was  a  perfect  reflection  of  the  mind  of  him 
who  stood  impassive  at  the  window  with  his 
back  turned,  a  faint  blue  cloud  of  cigar  smoke 
rising  above  his  head. 

A  quick  step  sounded  in  the  corridor — the 
step  of  one  who  bears  a  message.  An  orderly 
appeared  in  the  doorway,  spoke  to  the  two  sen- 
tries and  was  passed  in  with  a  salute  to  Forbes. 

"For  General  Grant,"  he  said,  holding  out 
a  folded  note  of  white  paper.  "Personal  from 
Lieutenant  Harris,  sir." 

At  the  sound  of  his  name  the  General  turned 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       205 

slowly  and  accepted  the  note  which  the  orderly 
presented.  He  took  it  without  haste  and  yet 
without  any  perceptible  loss  of  time  or  motion 
and,  as  always,  without  unnecessary  words. 
Scanning  it,  he  shifted  his  cigar  to  one  corner 
of  his  mouth  where  its  smoke  would  not  rise 
into  his  eyes,  thought  for  an  instant,  then 
nodded  shortly. 

"I'll  see  him.    At  once." 

Dismissed,  the  orderly  saluted  and  passed 
quickly  out.  The  General,  with  his  chin  in  his 
collar  and  his  cigar  held  between  his  fingers 
at  nearly  the  same  level,  moved  back  to  the 
window  and  stood  there  silently  as  before. 
He  knew  what  Lieutenant  Harris  would  wish 
to  speak  to  him  about.  A  few  weeks  before  a 
Lieutenant-Colonel  of  cavalry  had  been  court- 
martialed  on  the  charge  of  allowing  the  escape 
of  a  spy.  The  court  had  found  him  guilty 
and  its  findings  had  been  submitted  to  the 
higher  authorities  and  endorsed  by  them.  A 
copy  of  these  reports  now  lay  on  his  desk. 
All  this  his  Adjutant,  Forbes,  knew  as  well 
as  the  General  himself,  but  if  Forbes  had 
thought  it  worth  while  to  speculate  on  the  ex- 


206       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

tent  of  his  commander's  interest  he  might  have 
guessed  for  years  without  ever  drawing  one 
logical  conclusion  from  all  the  hints  that  that 
impassive  face  and  figure  gave  him. 

Again  a  ringing  step  in  the  corridor  and 
this  time  Lieutenant  Harris  came  into  the 
room,  his  hand  going  up  in  salute.  But  his 
General  was  still  looking  out  of  the  window, 
his  eyes  on  a  dead  level.  There  was  a  silence 
and  then — without  turning  around — 

"Well,  Lieutenant,  what  is  it?" 

"A  short  conference,  General,  if  you'll 
grant  it.  The  case  of  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Morrison."  It  was  hard  work  to  talk  to  one 
who  kept  his  back  turned  and  Harris  was  em- 
barrassed. 

The  smoke  from  the  General's  cigar  still 
curled  lazily  upwards. 

"Reprieve?"  came  the  monosyllabic  ques- 
tion. 

Harris  caught  himself  together  and  put  all 
his  feelings. 

"No,  General.     A  pardon!" 

At  once  Grant  wheeled  and  stood  gazing  at 
him  keenly. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       207 

"Pardon?33  he  said,  and  he  advanced  with 
deliberation  to  the  desk  where  he  stood  with 
his  eyes  steady  on  Harris'  face.  "Lieutenant  I 
Do  you  want  me  to  think  you  are  out  of  your 
mind?" 

Before  Harris  could  reply  Grant  stopped 
him  with  a  gesture  and  picked  up  a  batch  of 
papers  which  lay  on  the  desk. 

"The  man  has  been  given  every  chance.  He 
has  been  court-martialed — and  found  guilty." 

He  dropped  the  papers  in  the  case  back  on 
the  desk.  "And  you — his  counsel — having 
failed  to  prove  him  otherwise  now  come  to  me 
— for  pardon." 

He  snapped  his  fingers.  "Lieutenant,  you 
are  wasting  time."  And  he  turned  away, 
pausing  for  a  moment  to  turn  over  a  sheaf 
here  and  there  on  his  desk  and  meditate  their 
contents.  The  incident  of  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Morrison  has  been  disposed  of  and,  in 
another  moment  would  be  forgotten.  It  was 
now  or  never  for  Harris  and  he  answered 
quickly. 

"I  hope  not,  sir.  Neither  yours  nor  mine." 
And  then,  as  the  General  looked  up  with  some 


208       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

surprise  at  this  retort.  "You  have  read  the 
findings  of  the  court?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  grim  reply.  "And  approve 
the  sentence.  To-morrow  he  will  be  shot." 

"Yes,  sir,"  acknowledged  Harris.  "tTnless 
you  intervene." 

At  this  curiously  insistent  plea  for  clemency 
the  short,  stocky  bearded  man  who,  to  so  few, 
had  the  bearing  of  a  great  general,  faced  Lieu- 
tenant Harris  and  gave  him  a  look  which 
made  the  young  officer's  bravery  falter  for  a 
long  moment. 

"I?"  said  the  General,  with  a  searching  note 
in  his  voice  which  seemed  to  probe  coldly  and 
with  deadly  accuracy  among  the  strenuous 
emotions  in  the  young  man's  mind.  "Harris 
— you  are  an  officer  of  promise.  Don't  cut 
that  promise  short."  With  a  flick  of  his  ashes 
to  one  side  he  turned  away.  The  cigar  went 
back  into  the  corner  of  his  sardonic  mouth. 

Harris  strode  forward  an  impulsive  step 
and  threw  out  his  hands. 

"It  is  worth  the  risk.  When  a  man  is  con- 
demned to  die — " 

The  General  wheeled  with  more  impatience 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       209 

than  the  Adjutant,  Forbes,  had  seen  him  ex- 
hibit through  many  vexatious,  worrying 
months.  His  voice  took  on  a  rasping  note. 
He  tapped  the  papers  on  the  desk  with  grim 
significance. 

"Lieutenant- Colonel  Morrison  has  failed  in 
his  military  duty.  He  released  a  Rebel  spy — 
proved  himself  a  traitor  to  his  cause." 

"A  traitor,  General?"  protested  the  young 
officer.  "Do  you  call  a  man  a  traitor  who 
fought  as  Morrison  did  a  week  ago?  Who 
stood  his  ground  till  his  whole  command  was 
shot  to  pieces!  And  then  stood  alone — de- 
fending his  colors  in  the  face  of  hell  let  loose !" 

The  appeal  was  impassioned,  its  sincerity 
and  humanity  undoubted.  Yet  it  seemingly 
only  served  to  make  the  grim  rules  of  war 
more  unyielding  than  ever. 

Choosing  his  words  with  more  than  ordi- 
nary care,  and  speaking  them  in  firm,  even 
tones,  the  General  made  his  reply. 

"No  act  of  bravery  can  atone  for  a  soldier's 
lapse  from  duty."  He  sat  down  at  his  desk 
and  began  to  write. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  Lieutenant 


210       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

Harris  might  have  accepted  defeat  for  there 
seemed  no  use  in  trying  to  break  down  that 
iron  will  or  touch  the  heart  of  this  relentless 
soldier.  But  this  was  something  more  than 
an  ordinary  case  and  Harris  was  more  than 
simply  Morrison's  counsel — he  was  his  friend. 
The  two  had  fought  together  through  three 
hard  campaigns;  they  had  shared  food  and 
water  and  shelter,  had  slept  together  for 
warmth  on  sodden  fields,  had  exchanged  such 
confidences  as  two  officers  from  the  same  town 
in  the  North  but  of  unequal  rank  may  ex- 
change under  the  pressure  of  war-time  emo- 
tions. If  there  was  one  man  living  who  knew 
Morrison's  heart  and  appreciated  his  motives 
to  the  uttermost  it  was  his  lieutenant  and  the 
young  officer  was  prepared  to  lose  his  commis- 
sion, aye,  even  face  prison  for  insubordination 
if  continued  opposition  to  the  Commander-in- 
( Chief  would  result  in  a  re-hearing.  And  so 
he  caught  himself  together  for  the  second  time 
and  returned  to  the  charge. 

"I  do  not  offer  his  courage  as  a  plea  for 
pardon,"  he  said,  and  turned  to  his  general 
with  half  a  smile,  "but  still  I  find  in  Shake- 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       211 

speare — and  in  Blackstone — the  suggestion  of 
tempering  justice  with  mercy." 

Grant  tossed  aside  his  pencil,  repeating  the 
last  word  slowly,  bitterly: 

"Mercy!" 

He  rose  from  his  seat  and  stood  beside  his 
table,  speaking  with  a  low  but  almost  fierce 
intensity : 

"They  call  me  a  war  machine !  I  am !  And 
you — and  all  the  rest — are  parts  of  it!  A 
lever!  A  screw!  A  valve!  A  wheel!  A 
machine  half  human — yes !  A  thing  of  muscle 
and  bone  and  blood — but  without  a  heart !  A 
merciless  machine,  whose  wheels  must  turn 
and  turn  till  we  grind  out  this  rebellion  to  the 
dust  of  peace!" 

He  paused  impressively,  and  in  the  hard, 
cold  words  which  followed,  all  hope  for  Mor- 
rison seemed  to  fade  and  die. 

"If  a  wheel  once  fails  to  do  its  work — dis- 
card it! — for  another  and  a  better  one!  We 
want  no  wheels  that  slip  their  cogs!" 

The  General  ceased  and  turned  to  his  lit- 
tered table ;  but  Harris  was  not  yet  beaten. 

"No,  General,"  he  answered  bravely,  "but 


212       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

there  happens  to  he  a  flaw  ...  in  your  ma- 
chine's control."  The  General  looked  up, 
frowning  sharply;  but  Harris  still  went  on: 
*In  a  military  court  we  have  condemned  a 
man  to  die — and  the  facts  have  not  been 
proved!3' 

Amazed  more  at  the  young  officer's  obsti- 
nate temerity  than  his  words  the  General  stared 
at  him. 

"How  so?"  he  asked,  with  irony. 

Harris  opened  out  his  hands  with  a  simple 
gesture  that  seemed  to  leave  his  logic  to  the 
judgment  of  any  impartial  .observer. 

"In  times  of  peace,  my  profession  is  that 
of  the  Law.  I  know  my  ground — and,"  in 
rising  tones  of  sincerity,  "I  challenge  you  to 
shake  it  in  any  civil  court  in  Christendom." 

"Strong  words,  young  man,"  came  the 
stern  reply.  "For  your  sake,  I  hope  they  are 
warranted.  What  is  your  point?  Get  at  it!" 

Harris  drew  a  short  breath  of  relief.  He 
had  cleverly  switched  the  appeal  from  grounds 
on  which  he  stood  no  chance  whatever  to  those 
where  he  did  not  fear  any  intellect  in  a  fair 
fight. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       213 

"The  evidence,"  he  said  calmly,  "was  purely 
circumstantial.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  alleged 
that  my  client  captured  a  Rebel  spy,  one  Her- 
bert Gary,  who  was  hiding  in  the  loft  of  a 
cabin." 

The  General's  caustic  tones  interrupted. 
"To  which  fact,"  he  said,  "there  were  only  ten 
witnesses." 

"Yes,  General,"  was  the  faintly  smiling 
agreement.  "Ten!  But  not  one  of  them  ac- 
tually saw  the  man!  They  believe  he  was 
there,  but  they  cannot  swear  to  it." 

Grant  made  a  motion  as  of  putting  away 
something  of  no  consequence.  "Immaterial — 
in  view  of  the  other  facts.  Well — what 
else?" 

"Next,  it  is  claimed  that  Morrison  released 
this  spy  and  allowed  him  to  enter  the  Union 
lines — without  regard  to  consequences." 

The  General  gave  a  short  exclamation  of 
impatience,  and  struck  the  papers  on  his  desk 
with  the  flat  of  his  hand. 

"And  that  is  proved/'  he  said,  sharply. 
"Proved  by  several  officers  who  stopped  your 
spy  at  points  along  the  road." 


He  singled  out  a  soiled  piece  of  paper  from 
the  sheaf  before  him  and  held  it  up,  a  piece  of 
paper  which  bore  writing  on  both  sides. 

"When  taken,  this  pass  was  found  on  his 
person.  Not  circumstantial  evidence,  but 
fact.  Signed  on  one  side  by  R.  E.  Lee  and, 
on  the  other,  by  Colonel  Morrison."  He 
laughed  shortly  over  the  futility  of  argument 
under  such  circumstances.  "Do  you  presume 
to  contest  this,  too?" 

To  his  amazement  the  young  officer  facing 
him  bowed  easily  and  smiled  in  turn. 

"I  do.  Emphatically.  No  pass  was  given 
Herbert  Gary  either  by  Colonel  Morrison  or 
General  Lee." 

"What?"  cried  the  General  angrily. 

Harris  only  pointed. 

"Read  it,  sir — if  you  please."  He  watched 
till  Grant's  eyes  started  to  scan  the  pass  again, 
and  then  repeated  the  words  which  he  knew 
so  well. 

"Pass  Virginia  Gary  and  escort  through 
Federal — and  Confederate  lines." 

"  'Virginia  Gary,'  General,  is  a  non-com- 
batant and  a  baby.  'Escort'  may  mean  a 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       215 

single  person — or  it  may  mean  a  whole  troop 
of  cavalry." 

To  his  infinite  relief  and  joy  his  Command- 
ing General  looked  up  at  him  thoughtfully, 
then  slowly  rose  from  his  desk  and  took  a  turn 
about  the  room,  followed  by  a  faint  blue  trail 
of  cigar  smoke.  He  paused. 

"And  what  does  Cary  say?"  he  asked. 

Again  Harris  smiled  the  quiet  smile  of  the 
lawyer  who  has  been  confronted  with  such 
questions  before  and  knows  well  how  to  an- 
swer them. 

"He,  too,  is  on  trial  for  his  life.  His  evi- 
dence, naturally,  was  not  admitted." 

"Ah !     Then  what  says  Morrison?" 

"Nothing,  sir,"  was  the  young  lieutenant's 
calm  reply.  "The  burden  of  proof  lies  with 
the  prosecution — not  with  the  defendant." 

"And  this  is  your  contention — your  legal 
flaw  in  my  machine?"  the  General  asked 
,  sharply. 

"It  is." 

"Very  good,  sir — very  good.  In  that  case 
we'll  call  in  these  silent  partners  and  dig  into 
this  case  until  we  reach  rock  bottom!" 


216       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"Forbes,"  he  ordered.  "Send  for  the  pris- 
oner, Mr.  Morrison — and  the  Rebel,  Herbert 
Gary.  I  want  both  of  them  here — at  once!" 

In  the  pause  which  followed  the  Adjutant's 
exit  Harris  interposed  an  objection. 

"Your  method,  General,  is  hardly  just  to 
the  interests  of  my  client." 

Grant  turned  on  him  with  something  more 
than  impatience.  He  was  growing  angry. 

"Lieutenant  Harris!  Are  you  asking  me 
to  pardon  a  guilty  man?  It's  the  truth  I  want 
— not  legal  technicalities.  Next  you'll  be  ask- 
ing me  not  to  hang  this  Rebel  spy  because  he 
has — a  baby!" 

He  went  back  to  his  accustomed  place  at  the 
window  and  stood  looking  out  again,  his  hands 
clasped  loosely  behind  his  back,  the  eternal 
cigar  smoke  rising  above  his  head.  Then,  to 
the  young  lieutenant's  amazement,  he  asked 
a  question  in  tones  of  ordinary  conversation. 

"Harris,"  he  said.  "Who  was  the  man  who 
preferred  these  charges  to  start  with?" 

"Corporal  Dudley,"  was  the  eager  answer. 

"And  there,  General,  is  another  point  and 
a  vital  one  that  was  not  brought  out.  In  re- 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       217 

porting  his  Colonel,  Dudley  was  actuated  not 
by  a  spirit  of  military  duty,  but  personal  re- 
venge." 

"Revenge?    Why?" 

"Because  Morrison  shot  and  killed  Dudley's 
brother — a  Sergeant  in  his  command." 

The  General  came  back  from  his  window. 

"Again — why  ?" 

"For  insubordination  —  incendiarism  —  at- 
tempted desertion,"  came  the  swift  reply. 

The  General's  eyebrows  raised  a  fraction  of 
an  inch.  He  seated  himself  at  his  desk  and 
unrolled  a  map. 

"Any  witnesses  of  the  Sergeant's  death?"  he 
asked  evenly  as  he  proceeded  to  study  his  map. 

"Unfortunately,  only  one,"  Harris  replied. 
"An  old  negro — now  in  our  camp — answering 
to  the  name  of  William  Lewis." 

"Lewis — Lewis,"  said  Grant  thoughtfully. 
He  referred  for  a  moment  to  a  file  of  papers 
and  then  looked  up.  "Is  that  the  old  cod- 
ger who's  been  worrying  my  entire  staff  for 
permission  to  go  through  our  lines  to  his 
home?" 

"Yes,  General,"  said  Harris,  with  a  smile, 


218       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

for  Unc'  Billy's  persistency  and  his  troubles 
were  known  to  everyone  he  met. 

"Good!  It's  about  time  we  got  even  him," 
the  General  remarked  sardonically.  "Have 
him  in!  See  to  it,  Forbes."  And  again  he 
bent  over  his  map. 

Forbes,  passing  out  again,  paused  as  Harris 
gestured. 

"You'll  find  him  somewhere  near  the  guard 
house,"  the  Lieutenant  said  with  a  flicker  of 
a  smile.  "The  old  man  has  been  regularly 
camping  out  there  since  he  learned  that  his 
master  was  inside.'" 

A  minute  passed  and  then,  from  a  short  dis- 
tance away,  came  the  sound  of  a  squad  of  sol- 
diers marching.  In  single  file,  with  the  two 
prisoners  in  line,  the  squad  came  into  the  hall- 
way and  stopped  at  the  doorway. 

"Halt!  Left  face!  Order  arms!  Prison- 
ers file  out!3'  The  two  prisoners  stepped  for- 
ward and  entered  the  room. 

Thanks  to  expert  surgical  work  since  he  en- 
tered Union  lines,  Herbert  Gary's  wounds 
had  healed  quickly  while  plenty  of  good  food 
had  done  the  rest.  His  eyes  may  not  have 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       219 

been  bright  with  hope  but  at  least  they  were 
clear  with  health  and  his  straight  back  and 
squared  shoulders  showed  that  the  man's  fight- 
ing spirit  had  not  left  him  even  under  the  ad- 
verse decision  of  a  court-martial. 

Of  the  two,  Morrison  seemed  the  graver  and 
quieter.  With  his  sword  taken  from  him  and 
his  shoulder  straps  ripped  off  the  man  who 
had  been  a  Lieutenant-Colonel  in  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac  only  the  day  before  stood  looking 
at  his  general  without  the  slightest  hope  for 
clemency.  Yet,  with  all  the  sad,  quiet  look  of 
resignation  in  his  eyes,  behind  them  glowed  a 
wonderful  light — the  light  of  self-sacrifice. 
For  he  had  chosen  to  put  on  the  tender  glove 
of  humanity  and  grip  hands  with  the  mailed 
gauntlet  of  war,  and  though  he  had  been 
crushed  yet  even  in  this  bitter  hour  they  could 
not  take  from  him  the  knowledge  that  the 
Commander  in  Chief  of  all  spiritual  armies' 
would  stand  forever  on  his  side.  They  could 
take  his  sword  and  shoulder  straps  but  they 
could  not  rob  him  of  that  divine  consolation. 

And  so  the  two  stood  with  their  eyes  steady 
on  the  General — the  Confederate,  hard  and 


220       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

defiant — the  Union  officer  with  a  strange,  sad 
glow  on  his  face. 

But  the  General  paid  them  no  attention. 
He  was  still  studying  the  map  laid  out  before 
him  on  his  desk,  the  cigar  in  the  eorner  of  his 
mouth  drawing  one  side  of  his  face  into  harsh, 
deep  lines.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Ulysses  Simp- 
son Grant  was  very  far  removed  from  harsh- 
ness— he  was  simply  and  solely  efficiency  per- 
sonified. When  nothing  was  to  be  said 
General  Grant  said  nothing.  To  do  other- 
wise was  waste. 

Presently  he  looked  up  and  saw  that  while 
Forbes  had  given  the  two  prisoners  chairs  di- 
rectly in  front  of  his  desk  one  of  the  important 
factors  in  the  business  in  hand  had  not  been 
produced. 

"Well,  Forbes,  well?  Where  is  the  negro?" 
he  asked  crisply.  "Bring  him  in !  Bring  him 
in!" 

"In  a  moment,  General,"  responded  the  Ad- 
jutant, hastening  to  the  doorway  as  the  tread 
of  feet  sounded  again  in  the  hallway.  Dis- 
missing the  two  privates  who  had  arrived  with 
Uncle  Billy  between  them  he  led  the  old  man 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       221 

down  to  the  desk  and  left  him  there,  bowing 
and  scraping  a  little  and  holding  his  hat  in 
front  of  him  in  both  hands. 

"Wan'  see  me,  suh?"  ventured  Uncle  Billy, 
intruding  delicately  on  the  General's  calcula- 
tions. "Here  I  is!" 

General  Grant  looked  up  quickly  and  ran 
his  eye  over  the  old  man. 

"Your  name!" 

"Er — William  Lewis,  seh.    Yas,  seh." 

"To  whom  do  you  belong?" 

Although  Uncle  Billy's  back  was  not  par- 
ticularly straight  this  sudden  question  intro- 
duced a  stiffening  into  it  which  made  it  more 
upright  than  it  had  been  in  years. 

"I  b'longs  to  Cap'n  Hubbert  Gary,  seh — of 
de  Confed'it  Army.  Das  who  I  b'longs  to. 
Yas,  seh." 

The  General  sat  back  a  little  in  his  chair  and 
studied  Uncle  Billy.  He  saw  that  after  all 
the  old  negro  was  simply  a  natural  slave — 
that  he  probably  had  no  other  thought  in  his 
grayed  head  than  that  of  faithful  service  to  his 
owner.  But  he  would  try  him  and  see  how 
far  the  old  man  would  go. 


222       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"I  understand,"  he  said,  "that  freedom  has 
been  offered  you — and  you  refused  it.  Is  this 
true?" 

"Yas,  seh." 

"Why?"  asked  the  General  quietly. 

Uncle  Billy  stammered. 

"Well — er — well,  'skuse  me,  Mars'  Gen'l, 
but — but  down  whar  I  lives  at  de — de  white 
gent 'men  understands  a  nigger  better 'n  what 
you-all  does.  Yas,  seh." 

General  Grant  may  have  smiled  internally, 
but  the  only  symptom  of  amusement  was  the 
dry  note  in  his  voice. 

"I  see.  But  there  has  been  some  difference 
of  opinion  on  the  point." 

He  paused  and  then  pointed  past  Uncle 
[Billy  directly  at  Morrison.  "Do  you  know 
that  man?" 

"Me?"  said  Uncle  Billy.  He  turned  and 
saw  Morrison  and  instantly  his  face  lighted  up. 
It  made  no  difference  to  the  old  negro  that 
Morrison's  uniform  was  mutilated — he  could 
only  see  the  familiar  features  of  one  who  had 
treated  his  dead  mistress  with  perfect  re- 
spect under  trying  circumstances. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       223 

"Aw,  yas,  seh,"  he  broke  out,  with  a  broad 
grin.  "How  you  does,  Cun'l.  I  clar  to— 

Uncle  Billy  stopped.  His  eyes  had  gone 
beyond  Morrison  to  the  man  sitting  beside  him 
and  at  the  sight  of  that  loved  figure  the  old 
man  began  to  tremble.  His  voice  lowered  to 
a  whisper  and  he  began  to  totter  forward. 

"Mars'  Cary!"  he  said,  as  if  he  were  look- 
ing on  one  risen  from  the  dead.  He  came  a 
little  nearer,  with  his  hand  stretched  out  as 
if  to  touch  him  testingly — then  suddenly 
dropped  down  on  his  knees  before  Cary  who 
had  risen  from  his  chair.  "Bless  Gawd,  I 
done  fin'  you,"  he  sobbed,  his  face  buried  in  his 
master's  coat.  "I  done  fin'  you  at  last." 

The  General  frowned. 

"Forbes,"  he  ordered.  "Put  a  stop  to  that. 
Bring  him  back !" 

But  Uncle  Billy  paid  not  a  bit  of  attention 
as  the  Adjutant  sprang  up.  All  his  thought 
was  for  his  master  and  his  own  explanation. 

"Dey  wculdn'  lemme  git  thru,  seh!"  he  cried, 
pleading  absolution  from  what  had  seemed  an 
inexcusable  breach  of  trust.  "Dey  wouldn* 
gimme  no  pass  an*  I'se  des  been  stuck  I  Aw, 


224       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

Gawd,  Mars'  Gary — an'  I  axed  'em  ev'y  day!'1 

"There  now,  Billy — don't,"  Gary  said  with 
a  gesture  of  pity  and  unending  gratitude. 

Uncle  Billy  rose  slowly  to  his  feet. 

"Yas,  seh.  Yas,  seh,"  he  answered  obedi- 
ently. "  'Skuse  me,  Mars'  Gen'l.  I  eouldn' 
he'p  it,  seh.  I — I  eouldn'  he'p  it.  Dey 
wouldn'  eben  lemme  see  him  in  de  guard 
house — " 

"That  will  do,"  interrupted  the  General 
firmly.  "Listen  to  me.  When  did  you  see 
Mr.  Morrison — last?" 

"Him?"  said  Uncle  Billy,  looking  around 
at  the  Union  officer.  :  'Twas — 'twas  in  de 
spring,  seh.  Yas,  seh.  De  time  de  Yankees 
bu'nt  us  out." 

"How's  that?"  asked  the  General,  not  un- 
derstanding. 

Lieutenant  Harris  came  forward  a  step. 

"The  act  of  incendiarism  I  spoke  of,  Gen- 
Jeral — on  the  part  of  Sergeant  Dudley." 

The  General  looked  up  and  nodded. 

"I  see,"  he  said,  and  Harris,  knowing  that 
due  weight  would  be  given  the  fact  let  go  a 
faint  sigh  of  relief  and  stepped  back. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       225 

The  cigar  came  out  of  the  General's  mouth. 
^Tell  me  about  it,"  he  said  to  Uncle  Billy. 

The  old  negro  drew  himself  up  and  shifted 
his  weight  onto  his  other  foot. 

"Well,  seh,  'twas  dis  way.  One  mornin'  de 
blue-bellies — 'skuse  me,  seh,  de  cav'lry  gent'- 
men.  One  mornin'  de  cav'lry  gent'men  come 
ridin'  up,  lookin'  fer  horses  an'  fodder  an' 
— an'  Mars'  Gary — an'  anything  else  what  was 
layin'  roun'.  Yas,  seh.  An'  des'  befo'  dis 
here  gent'man  come,"  with  a  bow  at  Morrison, 
"a  low-lived  white  man  took'n  grab  me  by  de 
th'oat — an'  choke  me,  seh.  Den  he  'suit  Miss 
Hallie— " 

"Miss  Hallie?"  queried  the  General. 

"My  mis'tiss,  seh,"  answered  Uncle  Billy. 
"My  mis'tiss,  seh,"  he  said  again  and  his  hand 
went  up  to  his  eyes. 

"The  wife  of  Captain  Gary,"  Harris  said 
in  a  low  tone  and  the  General  nodded. 

"Den — bless  Gawd — de  Cun'l  come!  He 
pick  him  down  off' n  de  front  po'ch — and  put 
him  under  'rest.  Yas,  seh.  An'  Miss  Hallie, 
she  sho'  was  hoppin',  Gen'l.  She — " 

"Never  mind  that,"  sighed  the  man  whose 


226       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

creed  was  Patience.  "Go  on  with  the 
story." 

"Yas,  seh.  Thank'e,  seh.  'Twas  des  lek  I 
tell  you,  seh.  An'  arfter  while  orders  come 
to  de  cav'lry  gent 'men  fer  to  light  out  fr'm 
dar  in  a  hurry.  An'  whilst  dey  was  gettin' 
ready,  seh,  an'  me  an'  de  Cun'l  was  waitin' 
roun'  fer  to  proteck  de  property,  de  fire  bus' 
right  out  de  winders  I 

"Dat's  right,  Mars'  Gen'l,"  Uncle  Billy 
hurried  to  state,  as  the  General's  eyebrows 
went  up  in  surprise.  "Dat's  right.  Den  de 
front  do'  flewed  open,  an*  here  come  dat  po' 
white  trash  rapscallion — wid  de  pine  knot  in 
his  han\  Yas,  seh.  He — " 

"One  moment!"  snapped  the  General. 
"Was  he  running  towards  his  troop  or  away 
from  it?" 

"Way  fr'm  it,  seh,"  replied  the  old  negro, 
with  unmistakable  truthfulness,  "t'odes  de 
ice  house  whar  Miss  Hallie  an'  de  chillun  was 
at.  Yas,  seh." 

"And  Mr.  Morrison  tried  to  stop  him?" 

"Ha!"  cried  Uncle  Billy,  with  a  chuckle. 
"He  mo'n  tried,  seh.  He  done  it!" 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       227 

The  General  nodded,  his  lips  tight  shut. 

"So  I  understand.  But  what  did  he  do — 
or  say?" 

At  this  question  Uncle  Billy  suddenly  de- 
veloped dramatic  abilities  that  his  master  had 
never  dreamed  of. 

"He  say — "  and  Uncle  Billy's  arm  shot  out 
as  he  pointed  something  deadly  at  an  invisible 
foe— "he  say,  fGawd!  Dudley!  Halt!  Bang!' Jf 

Uncle  Billy's  hat  dropped  down  on  the  floor 
with  a  whack.  "Dat's  all,  seh.  Dat  po'  white 
trash — he  drop  lek  a  stuck  pig,  seh!" 

The  General's  eyes  were  on  his  desk  and  for 
a  moment  there  was  a  pause.  Finally,  he 
lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  Morrison,  who 
rose  in  salute. 

"Mr.  Morrison.  You  did  well.  Your 
Sergeant  failed  in  his  military  duty — and  de- 
served the  punishment.  I  commend  your 
action." 

Harris,  listening  with  all  his  might,  thought 
the  words  more  favorable  than  the  tone  in 
which  they  were  spoken  and  his  face  bright- 
ened. Then  he  heard  the  General  speaking 
more  sternly. 


228       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"The  Federal  powers  of  administrative 
justice  now  occupy  precisely  the  same  posi- 
tion with  regard  to  your  own  default." 

Harris'  face  darkened.  After  the  first  just 
encomium — what  was  this  that  was  coming? 

Relentless  and  inflexible  the  voice  went  on. 

"The  rules  of  war,  as  applied  to  a  non-com- 
missioned officer,  must  also  govern  his  supe- 
riors. As  Sergeant  Dudley  deserved  his  bul- 
let you  merit  yours.39 

His  eyes  dropped  from  Morrison's  face  and 
he  looked  up  at  Harris. 

"A  bad  witness  for  your  client,  Lieuten- 
ant," he  said  grimly,  as  he  nodded  his  head 
towards  Uncle  Billy.  "You  ought  to  study 
law!  Take  him  away,"  and  he  picked  up  a 
fresh  cigar  from  a  box  in  front  of  him  and 
tossed  the  old  one  out  of  the  window. 

Uncle  Billy,  with  a  puzzled  look  on  his  face, 
slowly  yielded  to  the  touch  of  the  two  soldiers 
who  stepped  into  the  room  at  a  gesture  from 
Forbes.  He  seemed  to  realize  that  his  testi- 
mony had  not  been  of  much  avail  though  just 
why  was  indeed  a  mystery.  One  thing,  how- 
ever, was  quite  clear. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       229 

"  'Skuse  me,  Mars'  Gen'l.  I— I  don't  need 
dat  ar  pass  home  now.  An'  I  much  obliged 
to  you  fer  not  givin'  it  to  me.  Yas,  seh. 
,Thank'e,  seh."  At  the  dororway  he  bowed 
with  careful  politeness  to  each  occupant  of  the 
fatal  room.  "Good  momin',  Mars'  Gary. 
Good  mornin',  gent'men.  Good  mornin'." 

With  the  disappearance  of  bewildered 
Uncle  Billy  the  General  swung  around  on 
the  officer  who  no  longer  wore  his  shoulder 
straps. 

"Mr.  Morrison,"  he  said,  in  his  distinct, 
even  tones.  "Your  friend  and  counsel,  Lieu- 
tenant Harris,  has  applied  to  me  for  your  par- 
don!" 

"Pardon?"  cried  Morrison,  springing  to  his 
feet  with  an  exclamation  of  amazement. 

"Exactly,"  was  the  crisp  response.  "It 
comes  from  him — not  from  you.  But  still,  as 
an  interested  party,  have  you  anything  to  say 
in  your  own  behalf?" 

The  Union  officer  stared  at  his  general  for 
a  moment  without  replying.  Yes,  there  were 
many  things  that  might  be  said — all  of  them 
honest  arguments  in  his  own  behalf,  all  of 


230       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

them  weighted  with  Right  and  Humanity 
but  none  of  them  worth  putting  into  words  in 
the  face  of  this  deadly  machine  of  war,  this 
grim,  austere,  unyielding  tribunal.  He  wav- 
ered for  a  moment  on  his  feet  as  a  terrible 
wave  of  despair  surged  over  him,  then  made  a 
faint  gesture  of  negation. 

"I  have  nothing  to  say,  sir." 

"Captain  Gary!"  ordered  the  General  and, 
as  Gary  rose  unsteadily  to  his  feet,  "No. 
Keep  your  seat,  sir;  you  are  wounded.  Is  it 
true — as  I  learn  from  this  report — that  during 
a  skirmish  a  week  ago  you  helped  defend  the 
Union  colors  against  your  own  people?" 

Gary  shot  up  from  his  chair  with  a  fiery 
rush  of  anger. 

tfl?  No,  sir!  I  defended  the  man — not 
the  soldier,  or  his  flag!" 

"Ah!"  ejaculated  the  General,  leaning  back 
in  his  chair  and  blowing  out  a  cloud  of  smoke 
in  surprise.  "You  draw  a  rather  fine  distinc- 
tion, Captain.  You  saved  the  colors — but 
you  failed  to  save  the  man!  You  had  better 
have  let  him  die — as  an  honorable  soldier." 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       231 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  the  Gen- 
eral asked :  "Is  it  true  that  you  were  actuated 
by  a  debt  of  gratitude?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  Southerner,  throwing 
back  his  head.  "And  a  greater  debt  than  I 
can  ever  hope  to  pay.  His  mercy  to — my 
little  girl." 

Without  relaxing  for  a  moment  his  grip  on 
the  points  of  the  case,  no  matter  what  human 
elements  might  be  drawn  into  it,  the  General 
instantly  rose  and  shot  out  an  accusing  fore- 
finger at  the  Confederate. 

"And  the  pass  he  gave — to  you!" 

Their  eyes  clashed  but  the  Southerner  low- 
ered his  own  not  a  whit  and  backed  them,  fur- 
thermore, with  honest  anger. 

fCTo  her!"  he  answered,  and  drove  the  reply 
home  with  clenched  jaws. 

The  General  relaxed — and  smiled. 

"Another  fine  distinction,"  he  said,  resum- 
ing his  seat.  He  knocked  the  ashes  from  his 
cigar  and  presently  looked  up  with  another 
one  of  those  terribly  vital  questions  which 
came  so  simply  from  his  lips.  "Did  you  ever 


232       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

penetrate  the  Federal  lines  by  means  of  a  uni- 
form— of  blue?" 

The  Confederate  drew  back  as  he  felt  the 
assault  on  his  rights  as  a  soldier. 

"As  to  that,  General  Grant,  there  is — " 

"Answer  me!"  came  the  sharp  command. 
"'Yes' or 'No'!" 

"One  moment,  General,"  interrupted  Har- 
ris, with  a  lawyer's  quick  objection.  "If — " 

"No  interference,  Harris,"  came  the  curt 
order.  "Answer  me,  Captain.  'Yes'  or 
'No'!" 

The  Southerner's  face  flushed  and  he  threw 
back  his  head  with  the  superb  defiance  that 
General  Grant  knew  so  well — which  was  his 
one  eternal  stumbling  block,  and  due  to  con- 
tinue for  another  full  year  of  blood. 

"Under  the  rulings  of  court-martial  law," 
the  Confederate  Captain  said  in  ringing  tones, 
"I  deny  even  your  right  to  the  question." 

To  the  surprise  of  everyone  the  General 
merely  nodded. 

"That  is  all,  sir.  Thank  you,"  he  said,  and 
Gary,  with  a  look  of  surprise,  slowly  resumed 
his  seat. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       233 

"Mr.  Morrison!" 

The  Union  officer  rose  and  saluted. 

"As  a  military  servant  of  the  United  States 
Government  you  were  ordered  to  pursue  this 
man  and  take  him — dead  or  alive.  In  this 
you  failed." 

Morrison  inclined  his  head  gravely  but  shot 
a  look  of  respectful  objection  at  his  superior. 

"In  part— I  failed." 

Instantly  the  accusing  forefinger  was 
leveled  at  him  across  the  desk  and  the  point 
made  with  terrible  directness. 

"And  knowing  he  was  a  spy!" 

Morrison  shook  his  head. 

"Not  to  my  personal  knowledge,  sir.  I 
hunted  him  many  times;  but  never  while  he 
wore  a  Federal  uniform." 

"And  when  you  captured  him?" 

In  reply,  Morrison  simply  indicated  Gary's 
tattered  coat  of  gray. 
i     "Ahl     Then  you  did  capture  him?" 

"Yes,"  came  the  quiet  answer. 

"And  he  was  the  escort  mentioned  in  your 
pass." 

"Yes,"  Morrison  answered  slowly. 


234       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"H'm,"  said  the  General.  He  rose  and 
turned  to  Harris. 

"I  am  afraid,  my  dear  Harris,  that  in  spite 
of  fine  spun  distinctions  and  your  legal  techni- 
calities, the  findings  of  our  court  were  not  far 
wrong." 

Dropping  his  handful  of  papers  on  the  desk 
he  caught  Morrison's  eye  and  rasped  out  his 
analysis  of  the  case. 

"Captain  Gary  practically  admits  his  guilt  I 
You  were  aware  of  it !  And  yet  you  send  him 
through  the  very  center  of  our  lines !  A  pass! 
Carte  blanche  to  learn  the  disposition  of  our 
forces — our  weakness  and  our  strength — and 
to  make  his  report  in  Richmond.  He  was  an 
enemy — with  a  price  on  his  head!  And  you 
trusted  him !  A  spy!" 

As  the  General  had  been  speaking  the  first 
few  words  of  his  contemptuous  summing  up 
Morrison  saw  where  they  would  lead  and  his 
manhood  instantly  leaped  up  in  reply. 

"I  trusted,  not  the  spy,  but  Herbert  Cary," 
he  said  with  honest  courage.  Then,  as  the 
General  turned  his  back  on  him  with  a  con- 
temptuous snap  of  his  fingers — 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       235 

"General!  I  have  offered  no  defense.  If 
the  justice  of  court-martial  law  prescribes  a 
firing  squad — I  find  no  fault.  I  failed.  I 
pay." 

With  a  gesture  which  indicated  Gary  the 
disgraced  officer  of  the  Army  of  the  Po- 
tomac shot  out  his  one  and  only  defense  of 
his  action — at  an  unyielding  back. 

"I  took  this  man — hunted — wounded — 
fighting  to  reach  the  side  of  a  hungry  child. 
I  captured  him  and,  by  the  rules  of  war,  I  was 
about  to  have  him  shot.  Then  he  asked  me  tc» 
get  his  little  girl  safely  to  Richmond,  and  not 
to  let  her  know — about  him." 

"And  she  believed  in  me.  Trusted  me — - 
even  as  I  trusted  Herbert  Gary  to  pierce  the 
very  center  of  your  lines — as  a  father — not  a 
spy!" 

From  behind  the  unyielding  back  came  a 
statement  of  fact,  firm  and  pitiless. 

"And  it  cost  you  your  sword — your  life." 

Morrison  centered  his  eyes  on  the  back  of 
the  General's  head  and  sent  his  answer  home 
with  all  the  power  of  his  voice  and  spirit. 

"And  I  have  no  regret"  he  said.     "In  the 


236       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

duty  of  a  military  servant — I  have  failed 
But  my  prisoner  still  lives!  I  could  not  ac- 
cept the  confidence  of  his  child — the  trust  of 
innocence — a  baby's  kiss — with  the  blood  of 
her  father  on  my  hands!"  He  dropped  his 
hands  and  half  turned  away. 

The  General  turned,  a  little  at  a  time — first 
his  head  and  then  his  shoulders. 

"A  very  pretty  sentiment,"  he  remarked 
dryly.  "But  you  seem  to  forget  that  we  are 
not  making  love  but  war/' 

With  a  supreme  burst  of  anger  at  his  help- 
lessness before  the  brute  forces  which  would 
presently  send  him  forth  to  the  firing  squad, 
Morrison  wheeled  on  his  commanding  general 
and  flared  forth  with  his  last  reply. 

"Yes,  war!  And  the  hellish  laws  that  gov- 
ern it.  But  there  is  another  law — Humanity! 
Through  a  trooper  in  my  command  the  home 
of  an  enemy  was  turned  to  ashes — his  loved 
ones  flung  out  to  starve.  When  a  helpless  tot 
had  lost  its  mother  and  a  father  would  protect 
it,  then  war  demands  that  I  smash  a  baby's 
one  last  hope — in  the  name  of  the  Stars  and 
Stripes.  And  then — to  march  back  home,  to 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       237 

a  happy,  triumphant  North — and  meet  my 
baby — with  the  memory  of  a  butcher  in  my 
heart — By  God,  sir!  I'd  rather  hang!" 

For  a  moment  General  and  Colonel  re- 
garded each  other  fixedly  and  then  the  Gen- 
eral turned  away  to  pace  the  floor.  Presently 
he  came  to  his  decision  and  walked  slowly  back 
to  his  desk. 

"Lieutenant  Harris,"  he  said  in  tones  whose 
significance  could  not  be  misunderstood,  "I 
was  right.  You  have  wasted  your  time — and 
mine." 

Then  he  sighed  wearily  and  made  a  last  ges- 
ture to  Forbes. 

"The  guard"  he  said. 

It  was  all  over. 

And  then,  to  the  ears  of  the  two  prisoners 
who  stood  looking  at  one  another  with  sad 
eyes,  came  a  sound  which  made  both  men 
start  and  look  again  with  apprehension  writ- 
ten on  their  faces — the  shrill  scream  of  a  child 
who  is  being  kept  from  something  she  has  set 
her  heart  upon.  Another  moment  and  there 
was  a  rush  of  tiny  feet  in  the  hall,  whereupon 
the  two  sentries  crossed  their  rifles  across  the 


238       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

doorway.  But  what  might  have  proved  a  seri- 
ous obstruction  for  a  man  was  only  an  absurd- 
ity to  a  child's  quick  wit  and  Virgie,  with  a 
little  duck  of  her  sunny  head,  dodged  quickly 
under  the  muskets  and  charged,  flushed  and 
panting,  on  the  General's  desk. 

"You  shan't  shoot  Colonel  Morrison,"  cried 
this  astonishing  new  comer  in  tones  of  shrill 
command  as  she  stamped  her  little  foot: 
"I  won't  let  you!  You  shan't!  You 
shan't!" 

A  moment  of  displeased  surprise  on  the 
part  of  the  General.  Then — 

"Take  the  child  out  of  here,"  he  ordered. 

"I  won't  go!"  answered  Virgie,  tossing  her 
curls  back  and  standing  her  ground  with 
angry  eyes. 

"Orderly!"  called  the  General. 

With  a  whirl  Virgie  dashed  away  from  the 
desk,  eluded  the  orderly  and  threw  herself  into 
.her  father's  arms. 

"Oh,  Daddy,  Daddy!  You  won't  let  him 
shoot  the  Colonel.  Daddy,  you  won't!  You 
won't!"  She  burst  into  a  passionate  flood  of 
tears. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       239 

Gary  lifted  his  hand  to  the  General  in  a  plea 
for  a  moment's  respite  from  force. 

"General— please.     She'll  go.'* 

He  turned  to  the  sobbing  child  and  shook 
her  gently.  " Virgie !  Virgie !  Listen,  honey ! 
Remember  General  Lee!"  The  bowed  head 
rose  from  her  father's  shoulder;  the  little 
shoulders  stiffened,  and  eye  to  eye  she  looked 
into  the  face  of  Gary  as  his  pleading  voice  went 
on:  "He  wouldn't  want  you  to  cry  like  this. 
He  said — 'She's  a  brave  little  soldier  to  stay 
there  all  alone.  Dixie  and  I  are  proud  of 
her.'  " 

The  Littlest  Rebel's  chin  went  up,  and  she 
bravely  choked  back  her  sobs.  If  this  was 
what  her  General  wanted,  this  her  General 
would  have,  though  childhood's  sobs  are  hard 
to  check  when  a  little  heart  is  aching  for  the 
pain  of  those  she  loves. 

"Go  now,  darling,"  her  father  pleaded. 
"Go." 

She  kissed  him,  and  turned  in  silent,  slow 
obedience,  casting  a  scowl  at  the  grim  and 
silent  General  Grant,  then  moved  toward  the 
guarded  door. 


"Wait!"  said  a  quiet  voice. 

"Harris!  They  say  that  fools  and  children 
speak  the  truth."  He  paused  and  then  said 
gently:  "Come  here,  little  girl.  Come  here 
and  talk  to  me." 

Somewhat  in  fear  now  that  the  kind  voice 
robbed  her  of  her  anger  the  little  pale  faced 
child  choked  down  her  sobs  and  came  slowly 
forward  to  the  desk.  But,  as  she  stood  there, 
her  courage  returned  and,  marvel  of  marvels, 
her  tiny  hand  went  up  in  imitation  of  a  salute. 

Grant  dropped  his  chin  in  his  hand  so  that 
their  heads  were  nearly  on  a  level  across  his 
desk  and  looked  at  her  with  gentle  kindness 
in  his  eyes. 

"The  Littlest  Rebel,  eh?"  he  said  in  low 
tones.  "How  old  are  you?" 

"S-s-s-even.  Coin*  on  eight,"  responded 
Virgie,  gulping  down  a  sob  and  nervously  fin- 
gering her  tattered  dress. 

"Ah,  yes,"  he  nodded.  "And  do  you  know 
the  uniform  of  a  Union  officer — when  you  see 
it?" 

Virgie's  small  mouth  dropped  open  at  the 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       241 

absurdity  of  the  question  and  she  almost 
laughed. 

"A  Yankee?"  she  queried  with  scorn. 
"Well,  I  reckon  I  ought  to — by  this  time." 

"Very  good,"  the  brown  bearded  man 
nodded,  and  gently  blew  smoke  at  the  ceil- 
ing. "Now,  tell  me.  When  you  lived  at 
home — and  afterwards  in  your  cabin — did 
your  father  come  to  see  you  often?" 

Virgie's  sunny  head  nodded  in  emphatic 
asseveration.  "Yes,  sir.  Often." 

"How  often?"  asked  the  bearded  man. 

Virgie's  fingers  twisted  themselves  deep  in 
her  dress. 

"I — I  don't  know,  sir.  But  heaps  of 
times." 

"Good  again,"  and  the  questioner  actually 
smiled.  "When  your  father  came,  did  he  ever 
wear  clothes  that — that  were  not  his  own?" 

Virgie  turned  a  side-long  look  on  her  father 
but,  as  he  could  not  help,  her  puzzled  eyes 
went  back  to  the  General. 

"Well — well,  lots  of  our  men  don't  have 
hardly  any  clo's,"  she  said  pathetically. 


242       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

Another  smile  broke  the  sternness  of  the 
General's  face. 

"That  isn't  what  I  mean,"  he  explained 
gently.  "Did  he  ever  wear  a  coat  of  blue — a 
Yankee  uniform?" 

"General!3'  broke  in  Harris. 

"Lieutenant!"  frowned  Grant.  He  turned 
back  to  Virgie  and  coaxed  her  a  little. 

"Well?     Tell  me!" 

With  one  bare  big  toe  twisted  under  her 
foot  and  fingers  interlocked  in  agony  the  child 
turned  a  look  of  pure  anguish  on  her  silent, 
grave  faced  father.  This  was  torture — and 
she  could  not  escape. 

"Oh,  Daddy,  Daddy!"  she  burst  forth  with 
a  wail  of  tragedy  in  her  voice.  "What  must 
I  tell  Urn?" 

The  father's  lips,  which  had  been  closed 
against  the  pain  that  racked  him,  softened  with 
the  perfect  trust  which  went  into  his  gentle 
command. 

"The  truth,  Virgie.  Whatever  the  General 
asks." 

The  General's  observant  eyes  rested  on  the 
proud  Southerner  for  an  instant,  noted  that 


243 

his  face  was  quite  without  anxiety,  then  went 
back  to  the  little  child. 

"Well,  did  he?"  he  asked. 

"Y-y-y-es,  sir,"  answered  Virgie  with  a 
gulp. 

The  General  nodded  and  his  face  grew  grave 
again. 

"I  wonder  if  you  even  know  what  it  means. 
A  spy!" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  Littlest  Rebel,  and 
dropped  her  eyes. 

"Hm.  And  do  you  remember  how  many 
times  he  came  that  way?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  came  the  instant  answer,  and  she 
threw  up  her  head.  "Once." 

"Once1?"  echoed  the  General,  surprised. 
"Are  you  sure?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  answered.  She  drew  herself 
up  proudly,  forgetting  the  poor,  tattered  dress, 
and  her  clear  eyes  rested  fearlessly  on  two 
,  others  that  read  through  them  down  into  the 
pure  whiteness  of  her  soul. 

"Think!"  said  the  quiet  voice  again,  while 
the  perspiration  started  out  on  the  forehead 
of  more  than  one  listener.  "And  remember 


244       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

what  your  father  said  just  now.  When  was 
it?" 

Again  the  fearless  eyes  of  the  child,  the 
Littlest  Rebel  of  them  all,  rose  to  the  gaze 
af  the  man  whose  iron  heel  was  crushing  them 
into  the  ground  and  she  made  her  answer — as 
crystal  clear  and  truthful  as  if  she  stood  before 
the  Throne  on  the  last  great  day. 

"When — when  Daddy  came  through  the 
woods  an' — an'  put  my  mamma  in  the  ground." 

There  was  a  silence.  No  one  moved.  Out- 
side in  the  trees  and  bushes  the  song  the  sum- 
mer insects  were  singing  suddenly  burst  upon 
their  ears  and  the  myriad  noises  of  the  camp, 
hitherto  unnoticed,  became  a  veritable  clamor, 
so  complete  was  the  stillness  in  the  room. 
Everyone  except,  perhaps,  the  child  herself 
realized  the  vital  importance  of  her  answer 
and  now  that  it  had  been  given  the  crisis  had 
passed.  The  Littlest  Rebel  had  put  an  end  to 
questioning.  An  audible  sigh  went  up  from 
everyone  except  the  man  behind  the  desk. 

This  one  turned  his  head  slowly  towards  «she 
Confederate  prisoner. 

"Captain  Gary,  is  this  true?" 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       245 

"Yes,  General,"  came  the  straightforward 
answer.  "I  went  to  your  nearest  post  with  a 
flag  of  truce  and  asked  permission  to  go  to  my 
dead  wife.  I  was  refused.  I  went  without 
permission." 

General  Grant  rose  to  his  feet.  Centering 
the  other's  eyes  with  his  own  he  spoke  to  him 
as  one  officer  speaks  to  another  when  he  ex- 
pects the  truth  and  nothing  hut  the  truth. 

"And  you  give  me  your  word,  as  a  soldier 
and  a  gentleman,  that  once — once  only — you 
wore  a  Federal  uniform  and  that  because  of 
the  burial  of  your  wife?" 

"I  do,"  answered  Herbert  Gary,  a  rebel  to 
the  last.  "And  that  was  the  only  cause  in 
heaven  or  hell  that  could  have  induced  me  to 
wear  it  I" 

For  a  moment  the  Commander  of  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac  surveyed  the  still  defiant 
prisoner,  then  turned  his  back  and  walked  to 
the  window  where  he  tossed  away  a  much 
chewed  cigar,  meantime  thinking  out  his  last 
analysis. 

Here  was  a  man  who  had  been  hunted  tire- 
lessly month  after  month  as  a  rebel  spy.  It 


246       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

was  true  that  he  was  a  spy  and  true  that  he 
had  worn  a  uniform  of  blue.  Yet  the  fact  had 
been  established — by  the  spotless  honesty  of  a 
little  child — that  he  had  worn  the  uniform  only 
so  that  he  might  reach  his  home  and  bury  his 
dead.  And — went  on  the  cool,  quiet  mind — 
since  the  man  was  not  a  spy  how  could  a  Union 
officer  be  executed  for  assisting  a  spy  to  es- 
cape? 

Coming  back  to  his  desk  again  the  General 
picked  out  another  smoke,  felt  of  it  thought- 
fully, sniffed  at  it,  then  raised  his  quiet  eyes. 

"Lieutenant-Colonel  Morrison,"  he  said  in 
clear,  incisive  tones,  "go  back  to  your  com- 
mand!" 

Five  words.  Five  short,  plain  words,  yet 
they  made  all  the  difference  between  a  firing 
squad  and  a  chance  at  life  again.  There  was 
a  silence — then  a  gasp  from  Morrison's  dry 
throat.  At  the  sound  of  his  title — at  the 
sound  of  that  blessed  order  which,  by  right  of 
supreme  power,  instantly  restored  him  to  his 
rank,  the  Union  officer  leaped  to  his  feet  with 
a  cry  of  joy.  But  it  was  not  even  for  those 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       247 

around  him  in  that  little  room  to  know  the 
wonderful  vista  of  happiness  which  opened  up 
again  before  the  eyes  which  only  a  moment  ago 
had  been  doomed  to  close  in  the  sleep  of  a  dis- 
graceful death. 

The  General's  hand  went  up  in  a  gesture 
which  checked  his  gratitude. 

"The  next  time  you  are  forced  to  decide 
between  military  duty  and  humanity — think 
twice!" 

He  turned  to  his  desk  and  took  up  a  small 
piece  of  paper,  crumpled  and  torn. 

"Captain  Gary,"  he  said,  "I  sincerely  regret 
that  I  cannot  honor  the  pass  as  given  you  by 
Colonel  Morrison,"  and  he  turned  the  paper 
over,  "but  I  do  honor  the  pass  of  your  General 
—R.  E.  Lee." 

He  folded  the  paper  and  held  it  out  to  Gary 
who  came  forward  as  if  in  a  dream.  Then 
the  General  turned  his  back  again  and  began 
to  rummage  on  his  desk.  The  incident  was 
closed. 

But  there  was  a  rush  of  bare,  childish  feet 
and  before  he  could  escape  Virgie's  brown 


248       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

little  arms  were  round  him  and  her  dimpled 
chin  was  pressed  against  his  waist. 

The  General  made  no  effort  to  release  him- 
self but  looked  down  on  her  with  a  softer  light 
in  his  face  than  any  of  his  men  had  seen  there 
in  many  months. 

"And  as  for  you,  young  lady,  the  next  time 
you  pervert  my  officers  and  upset  the  discipline 
of  the  Federal  Army — well,  I  don't  know 
what  I'll  do  with  you." 

He  looked  down  into  her  face  and  read  there 
a  wistful  feminine  appeal  for  outward  and  vis- 
ible reconciliation. 

"Oh,  well,"  he  said  with  mock  resignation,. 
"I  suppose  I've  got  to  do  it,"  and  he  stooped 
and  kissed  her.  Then  he  took  up  his  campaign 
hat  and  walked  towards  the  door. 

Behind  him  the  child  in  her  tattered  dress 
and  bare  brown  legs  stood  still  and  threw  out 
her  arms  to  him  in  a  last  soft-voiced  good-by. 

"Thank  you,  Gen'ral,"  called  the  Littlest 
Rebel,  with  the  light  of  heaven  in  her  eyes. 
"Thank  you  for  Daddy  and  Colonel  Morrison 
and  me.  You're  another  mighty  good  damn 
Yankee!" 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       249 

And  then,  with  a  cry  of  surpassing  joy  and 
love,  she  rushed  back  to  where  the  two  men 
waited  for  her  on  their  knees. 


CHAPTER  X 

IN  the  shade  of  a  fringe  of  trees  that  edged 
the  river  bank  a  troop  of  cavalry  was  drawn 
up  in  one  long,  thin  line.  Knee  to  knee,  the 
silent,  blue-coated  riders  sat,  waiting,  waiting 
— not  for  a  charge  upon  the  enemy,  or  orders 
for  a  foray  through  an  already  harried  land. 
They  waited  for  a  leader — a  man  who  had  led 
them  through  the  heat  and  cold,  through  peace- 
ful valleys  and  the  bloody  ruck  of  battle;  a 
man  whom  they  loved  and  trusted,  fearing  him 
only  when  they  shirked  a  duty  or  disobeyed  the 
iron  laws  of  war. 

This  man  had  been  taken  from  tEem,  him- 
self a  servant  who  had  disobeyed  these  laws, 
his  sword  dishonored,  his  shoulder  straps 
ripped  off  before  their  eyes.  And  now  the 
troopers  waited — and  for  what?  An  order 
had  come  which  put  them  on  review,  a  long 
thin  line  of  horsemen  waiting  on  the  river 
bank,  while  the  sun  beat  down  on  the  parched 

250 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       251 

red  fields,  and  the  waters  of  the  muddy  James 
lazed  by  as  they  murmured  their  sad,  low  song. 

The  troopers  were  silent — waiting.  A  horse 
stamped  idly  in  the  dust,  and  a  saber  rattled 
against  a  booted  leg.  A  whisper  ran  down 
the  line.  The  eyes  of  the  men  turned  slowly 
at  the  sight  of  a  single  rider  who  advanced 
from  the  distant  Union  camp.  He  did  not 
take  the  dusty  road  which  swept  in  a  wide, 
half -circle  to  where  the  waiting  troopers  sat 
in  line,  but  jumped  a  low  worm- fence  and 
came  straight  across  the  fields. 

An  officer  he  was,  erect  in  his  saddle,  chin 
up  and  shoulders  squared.  On  his  shoulders 
his  straps  had  been  replaced,  and  his  saber 
rattled  against  his  thigh  to  the  rise  and  fall  of 
his  horse's  stride. 

Straight  on  he  came  till  he  checked  his 
mount  before  the  center  of  the  waiting  line, 
and  the  troopers  knew  that  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Morrison  had  once  more  come  into  his  own. 

Their  sabers  rasped  from  out  the  scabbards 
and  rose  in  a  joyous,  swift  salute,  while  Mor- 
rison's once  dishonored  sword  acknowledged  it. 

"'Tention  .  .  .  company!" 


The  long  line  stiffened  and  waited  for  their 
officer  to  speak ;  yet  the  voice  was  not  the  voice 
of  an  officer  in  command,  but  that  of  a  com- 
rade and  a  friend. 

"Thank  you,  boys!  It's  good  to  be  back 
again."  He  swallowed  something  in  his 
throat  and  struggled  manfully  to  speak  in  even 
tones.  "I  must  ask  you  to  be  quiet — and  not 
to—" 

He  stopped.  Again  his  troop  had  dis- 
obeyed him — disobeyed  him  to  a  man.  A 
shout  went  up,  deep,  joyous  and  uncontrolled, 
its  echoes  pulsing  out  across  the  hot,  red  fields 
till  it  reached  the  distant  camp;  and  Grant 
looked  up  from  a  war  map's  crisscross  lines, 
grunted,  and  lit  a  fresh  cigar. 

And  Lieutenant-Colonel  Morrison  sat  his 
horse  before  his  cheering  line  of  men,  silent, 
happy,  while  two  tears  rolled,  unheeded,  down 
his  cheek — a  soldier  and  a  man! 
/  His  tenderness  to  a  little  child  had  torn  him 
from  his  saddle  and  doomed  him  to  disgrace 
and  death;  and  then,  one  line  from  her  baby 
lips  had  mounted  him  again  and  set  him  before 
his  troopers  on  parade. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       253 

fflt  was  when  .  .  .  Daddy  came  through  the 
woods  .  .  .  and  put  my  mamma  .  .  .  in  the 
ground" 

Two  lives  she  had  held — in  her  little  hands 
— and  had  saved  them  both  with  a  dozen  words 
of  simple,  unfaltering  truth. 

On  the  dusty  pike  which  led  to  Virginia's 
capital  another  rider  plodded  through  the 
heat  and  haze.  His  coat,  once  gray,  now  hung 
in  mud-stained  tatters  about  his  form,  but  be- 
neath his  battered  campaign  hat  his  thin,  pale 
features  were  smoothed  by  a  smile  of  happi- 
ness. 

Behind  his  saddle,  one  hand  gripped  tightly 
in  a  rent  in  the  soiled  gray  coat,  sat  still 
another  Rebel — the  smallest  of  them  all — her 
tiny  legs  stretched  out  almost  straight  on  the 
horse's  wide,  fat  back. 

"Daddy — how  far  is  it  to  Richmon'  now?" 

The  rider  turned  his  head  and  pointed  north. 

"It's  close  now,  honey.  See  that  line  of 
hills  ?  That's  Richmond.  A  mile  or  two  and 
we'll  be  at  home." 

Again  they  plodded  on,  past  fields  of  shriv- 


254       THE  LITTLEST  REBEL' 

eled  corn  whose  stalks  stood  silently  in  parched 
and  wilted  lines — lines  that  were  like  the  ranks 
of  the  doomed  Confederacy — its  stalks  erect, 
yet  sapped  of  the  juice  of  life.  Where 
orchards  once  had  flourished  their  rotted 
branches  now  hid  mouths  of  rifle  pits,  and  low, 
red  clay  entrenchments  stretched  across  the 
fields. 

"Daddy,"  broke  out  a  piping  voice,  "don't 
you  think  we'd  better  make  this  Yankee  horse 
get  up  a  little?  'Cause — 'cause  somethin'  else 
might  happen  before  we  get  there." 

"It's  all  right,  Virgie,"  her  father  answered, 
with  a  pat  on  her  small,  brown  knee.  "These 
lines  are  ours,  and  I  reckon  we  are  safe  at 
last." 

They  were.     Two  Rebels  on  a  Yankee  horse 

m 

soon  made  their  triumphant  entry  into  Rich- 
mond. They  passed  through  Rockets,  by  the 
half -deserted  wharves  on  the  river  bank  where 
a  crippled  gunboat  lay,  then  clattered  over  the 
cobble  stones  up  Main  Street  till  they  reached 
the  Square.  On  the  State  House  the  Stars 
and  Bars  still  floated ;  but  the  travelers  did  not 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL       255 

pause.  Northward  they  turned,  then  west- 
ward again,  till  they  stopped  at  last  before  a 
silent,  stately  mansion,  the  headquarters  of 
their  General — General  Lee. 

Before  the  open  door  two  sentries  stood,  but 
as  Gary  and  his  charge  dismounted  an  orderly 
came  down  the  steps  and  out  of  the  iron  gate. 
A  word  or  two  from  Gary  and  the  orderly  dis- 
appeared into  the  house,  returning  soon  with 
word  that  the  visitors  would  be  received — at 
once. 

Up  the  stone  steps  went  Virgie,  holding 
tightly  to  her  father's  hand,  for  now,  as  she 
neared  her  General,  her  little  heart  was  pound- 
ing, and  her  breath  came  eagerly  and  fast. 

On  the  threshold  of  a  dim  and  shaded  room 
they  paused  and  looked.  He  sat  there,  at  a 
table  strewn  with  war  maps  and  reports — a 
tall  gray  man  in  a  coat  of  gray — the  soldier 
and  the  gentleman. 

As  father  and  child  came  in  he  rose  to  meet 
them,  looking  at  the  two  with  eyes  that  seemed 
to  hold  the  sadness  and  the  tenderness  of  all 
the  world. 

He  knew  their  story;  in  fact,  he  had  bent  his 


every  effort  to  the  saving  of  Gary's  life.  He 
had  sent  a  courier  to  the  camp  of  General 
Grant  below  the  city,  asking  a  stay  of  sentence 
till  the  facts  in  the  case  were  cleared ;  and  only 
a  half  hour  before  his  courier  had  returned 
with  news  of  the  prisoner's  release. 

And  now,  as  he  advanced  and  gave  a  courtly 
welcome  to  his  trusted  scout,  the  hand  of  the 
Littlest  Rebel  once  more  went  up  in  salute  to 
a  superior  officer. 

"Gen'ral,"  she  said,  as  she  stole  a  glance  at 
her  father's  smiling  face,  "I've  brought  him 
back — with — with  the  pass  you  gave  me,  sir." 

And  the  General  stooped — six  feet  of  him — 
till  his  lips  were  on  a  level  with  Virgie's  lips; 
then  folded  her  closely  into  his  great  gray 
arms. 


THE  END 


PEACE 

Hushed  is  the  rolling  drum.     The  bugle's  note 

Breathes  but  an  echo  of  its  martial  blast; 
The  proud  old  flags,  in  mourning  silence,  float 

Above  the  heroes  of  a  buried  past. 
Frail  ivy  vines  'round  rusting  cannon  creep; 

The  tattered  pennants  droop  against  the  wall; 
The  war-worn  warriors  are  sunk  in  sleep, 

Beyond  a  summons  of  the  trumpet's  call. 

Do  ye  still  dream,  ye  voiceless,  slumbering  ones, 

Of  glories  gained  through  struggles  fierce  and  long, 
Lulled  by  the  muffled  boom  of  ghostly  guns 

That  weave  the  music  of  a  battle-song? 
In  fitful  flight  do  misty  visions  reel, 

While  restless  chargers  toss  their  bridle-reins? 
When  down  the  lines  gleam  points  of  polished  steel, 

And  phantom  columns  flood  the  sun-lit  plains? 

A  breathless  hush !     A  shout  that  mounts  on  high 

Till  every  hoary  hill  from  sleep  awakes ! 
Swift  as  the  unleashed  lightning  cleaves  the  sky, 

The  tumbling,  tempest-rush  of  battle  breaks ! 
The    smoke-wreathed   cannon   launch   their   hell-winged 
shells ! 

The  rattling  crash  of  musketry's  sharp  sound 
Sinks  in  the  deafening  din  of  hoarse,  wild  yells 

And  squadrons  charging  o'er  the  trampled  ground! 
257 


Down,  down  they  rush!     The  cursing  riders  reel 

'Neath  tearing  shot  and  savage  bayonet- thrust; 
A  plunging  charger  stamps  with  iron  heel 

His  dying  master  in  the  battle's  dust. 
The  shrill-tongued  notes  of  victory  awake! 

The  black  guns  thunder  back  the  shout  amain! 
In  crimson-crested  waves  the  columns  break, 

Like  shattered  foam,  across  the  shell-swept  plain. 

A  still  form  lies  upon  the  death-crowned  hill, 

With  sightless  eyes,  gray  lips  that  may  not  speak. 

His  dead  hand  holds  his  shot-torn  banner  still — 

Its  proud  folds  pressed  against  his  bloodstained  cheek. 

O  slumbering  heroes,  cease  to  dream  of  war ! 

Let  hatreds  die  behind  the  tread  of  years. 
Forget  the  past,  like  some  long-vanished  scar 

Whose  smart  is  healed  in  drops  of  falling  tears. 
Keep,  keep  your  glory;  but  forget  the  strife! 

Roll  up  your  battle-flags  so  stained  and  torn ! 
Teach,  teach  our  hearts,  that  still  dream  on  in  life, 

To  let  the  dead  past  sleep  with  those  we  mourn! 

From  pitying  Heaven  a  pitying  angel  came. 

Smiling,  she  bade  the  tongues  of  conflict  cease. 
Her  wide  wings  fanned  away  the  smoke  and  flame, 

Hushed  the  red  battle's  roar.     God  called  her  Peace. 
From  land  and  sea  she  swept  mad  passion's  glow; 

Yet  left  a  laurel  for  the  hero's  fame. 
She  whispered  hope  to  hearts  in  grief  bowed  low, 

And  taught  our  lips,  in  love,  to  shape  her  name. 
258 


She  sheathed  the  dripping  sword;  her  soft  hands  pres't 

Grim  foes  apart,  who  scowled  in  anger  deep. 
She  laid  two  grand  old  standards  down  to  rest, 

And  on  her  breast  rocked  weary  War  to  sleep. 
Peace  spreads  her  pinions  wide  from  South  to  North; 

Dead  enmity  within  the  grave  is  laid. 
The  church  towers  ring  their  holy  anthems  forth, 

.To  hush  the  thunders  of  the  cannonade. 

EDWARD  PEPLE. 


JOHN  FOX,  JR'S. 

STORIES  OF  THE  KENTUCKY  MOUNTAINS 

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THE  TRAIL   OF  THE    LONESOME  PINE./ 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

The  "lonesome  pine"  from  which  the 
story  takes  its  name  was  a  tall  tree  that 
stood  in  solitary  splendor  on  a  mountain 
top.  The  fame  of  the  pine  lured  a  young 
engineer  through  Kentucky  to  catch  the 
trail,  and  when  he  finally  climbed  to  its 
shelter  he  found  not  only  the  pine  but  the 
foot-prints  of  a  girl.  And  the  girl  proved 
to  be  lovely,  piquant,  and  the  trail  of 
these  girlish  foot-prints  led  the  young 
engineer  a  madder  chase  than  "the  trail 
of  the  lonesome  pine." 

THE    LITTLE    SHEPHERD   OF   KINGDOM    COME 

Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

This  is  a  story  of  Kentucky,  in  a  settlement  known  as  "King- 
dom Come."  It  is  a  life  rude,  semi-barbarous;  but  natural 
and  honest,  from  which  often  springs  the  flower  of  civilization. 

"  Chad."  the  "little  shepherd"  did  not  know  who  he  was  nor 
whence  he  came — he  had  just  wandered  from  door  to  door  since 
early  childhood,  seeking  shelter  with  kindly  mountaineers  who 
gladly  fathered  and  mothered  this  waif  about  whom  there  was 
such  a  mystery — a  charming  waif,  by  the  way,  who  could  play 
the  banjo  better  that  anyone  else  in  the  mountains. 

A  KNIGHT  OF  THE    CUMBERLAND., 
Illustrated   by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

The  scenes  are  laid  along  the  waters  of  the  Cumberland* 
the  lair  of  moonshiner  and  feudsman.  The  knight  is  a  moon- 
shiner's son}  and  the  heroine  a  beautiful  girl  perversely  chris* 
tened  "The  Blight."  Two  impetuous  young  Southerners'  fall 
under  the  spell  of  "The  Blight's  "  charms  and  she  learns  what 
a  large  part  jealousy  and  pistols  have  in  the  love  making  of  the 
mountaineers. 

Included  in  this  volume  is  "  Hell  f er-Sartain"  and  ether 
stories,  some  of  Mr.  Fox's  most  entertaining  Cumberland  valley 
narratives. 

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••'••'•• 

\\ 


STORIES    OF    RARE    CHARM    BY 

GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

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THE  HARVESTER 


Illustrated  by  W.  L.  Jacobs 

"The  Harvester,"  David  Langston,  io 
a  man  of  the  woods  and  fields,  who  draws 
his  living  from  the  prodigal  hand  of  Mother 
Nature  herself.  If  the  book  had  nothing  in 
it  but  the  splendid  figure  of  this  man,  wkh 
his  sure  grip  on  life,  his  superb  optimism, 
and  his  almost  miraculous  knowledge  of 
nature  secrets,  ip  would  be  notable.  But 
when  the  Girl  comes  to  his  "Medicine 
Woods,"  and  the  Harvester's  whole  sound, 
healthy,  large  outdoor  being  realizes  that 
this  is  the  highest  point  of  life  which  ha3 
come  to  him  —  there  begins  a  romance, 
troubled  and  interrupted,  yet  of  the  rarest  idyllic  quality. 

FRECKLES.       Decorations  by  E.  Stetson  Crawford 

Freckles  is  a  nameless  waif  when  the  tale  opens,  but  the  way  in 
which  he  takes  hold  of  life;  the  nature  friendships  he  forms  in  the 
great  Limberlost  Swamp;  the  manner  in  which  everyone  who  meets 
5im  succumbs  to  the  charm  of  his  engaging  personality;  and  his  love« 
Story  with  "The  Angel"  are  full  of  real  sentiment. 

A  GIRL  OF  THE  LIMBERLOST. 

Illustrated  by  Wladyslaw  T.  Brenda. 

The  story  of  a  girl  of  the  Michigan  woods;  a  buoyant,  lovable 
type  of  the  self-reliant  American.  Her  philosophy  is  one  of  love  and 
Hndness  towards  all  things;  her  hope  is  never  dimmed.  And  by  the 
sheer  beauty  of  her  soul,  and  the  purity  of  her  vision,  she  wins  from 
barren  and  unpromising  surroundings  those  rewards  of  high  courage. 

It  is  an  inspiring  story  of  a  life  worth  while  and  the  rich  beauties 
of  the  out-of-doors  are  strewn  through  all  its  pages. 

AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW. 

Illustrations  in  colors  by  Oliver  Kemp.    Design  and  decorations  by 
Ralph  Fletcher  Seymour. 

The  scene  of  this  charming,  idyllic  love  story  is  laid  in  Centra? 
Indiana.  The  story  is  one  of  devoted  friendship,  and  tender  self- 
sacrificing  love;  the  friendship  that  gives  freely  withou*  return,  and 
the  love  that  seeks  first  the  happiness  of  the  object.  The  novel  is 
brimful  of  the  most  beautiful  word  painting  of  nature,  and  its  pathos 
and  tender  sentiment  will  endear  it  to  all. 


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MYRTLE    REED'S  NOVELS 

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LAVENDER  AND  OLD  LACE. 

A  charming  story  of  a  quaint  corner  of 
New  England  where  bygone  romance  finds  a 
modem  parallel.  The  story  centers  round, 
the  coming  of  love  to  the  young  people  on 
the  staff  of  a  newspaper— and  it  is  one  of  the 
prettiest,  sweetest  and  quaintest  of  old  fash- 
ioned love  stories,  *  *  *  a  rare  book,  ex- 
quisite in  spirit  and  conception,  full  of 
delicate  fancy,  of  tenderness,  of  delightful 
humor  and  spootaniety. 

A  SPINNER  IN  THE  SUN. 

Miss  Myrtle  Reed  may  always  be  depended  upon  to  write  a  story 
in  which  poetry,  charm,  tenderness  and  humor  are  combined  into  a 
clever  and  entertaining  book.  Her  characters  are  delightful  and  she 
always  displays  a  quaint  humor  of  expression  and  a  quiet  feeling  of 
pathos  which  give  a  touch  of  active  realism  to  all  her  writings.  In 
"A  Spinner  in  the  Sun"  she  tells  an  old-fashioned  love  story,  of  a. 
veiled  lady  who  lives  in  'solitude  and  whose  features  her  neighbors 
have  never  seen.  There  is  a  mystery  at  the  heart  of  the  book  that 
throws  over  it  the  glamour  of  romance. 

THE   MASTER'S   VIOLIN, 

A  love  story  in  a  musical  atmosphere.  A  picturesque,  old  Ger- 
man virtuoso  is  the  reverent  possessor  of  a  genuine  "Cremona."  He 
consents  to  take  for  his  pupil  a  handsome  youth  who  proves  tc  have 
an  aptitude  for  technique,  but  not  the  soul  of  an  artist.  The  youth 
Faas  led  the  happy,  careless  life  of  a  modern,  well-to-do  young  Amer- 
ican and  he  cannot,  with  his  meagre  past,  express  the  love,  the  passion 
and  the  tragedies  of  life  and  all  its  happy  phases  as  can  the  master 
who  has  lived  life  in  all  its  fulness.  But  a  girl  comes  into  his  life — a 
"beautiful  bit  of  human  driftwood  that  his  aunt  had  taken  into  her 
heart  and  home,  and  through  his  passionate  love  for  her,  he  learns 
the  lessons  that  lif  e  has  to  give— and  his  soul  awakes. 

Founded  on  a  fact  that  all  artists  realize. 

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GROSSET&  DUN  LAP'S 

DRAMATIZED    NOVELS 

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WITHIN  THE  LAW.     By  Bayard  Veiller  &  Marvin  Dana. 
Illustrated  by  \Vm.  Charles  Cooke. 

This  is  a  novelization  of  the  immensely  successful  play  which  ran 
for  two  years  in  New  York  and  Chicago. 

The  plot  of  this  powerful  novel  is  of  a  young  woman's  revenge 
directed  against  her  employer  who  allowed  her  to  be  sent  to  prison 
for  three  years  on  a  charge  of  theft,  of  which  she  was  innocent. 

WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  MARY.     By  Robert  Carlton  Brown. 
Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 

This  is  a  narrative  of  a  young  and  innocent  country  girl  who  13 
suddenly  thrown  into  the  very  heart  of  New  York,  "the  land  of  her 
dreams,  where  she  is  exposed  to  all  sorts  of  temptations  and  dangers. 

The  story  of  Mary  is  being  told  in  moving  pictures  and  played  ia 
theatres  all  over  the  world. 

THE  RETURN  OF  PETER  GRIMM.      By  David  Belasco. 
Illustrated  by  John  Rae, 

This  is  a  novelization  of  the  popular  play  in  which  David  War, 
field,  as  Old  Peter  Grimm,  scored  such  a  remarkable  success. 

The  story  is  spectacular   and  extremely   pathetic  but  withal, 
powerful,  both  as  a  book  and  as  a  play. 
THE  GARDEN  OF  ALLAH.    By  Robert  Hichens. ; 

This  novel  is  an  intense,  glowing  epic  of  the  great  desert,  sunlit 
barbaric,  with  its  marvelous  atmosphere  of  vastness  and  loneliness, 

It  is  a  book  of  rapturous  beauty,  vivid  in  word  painting.    The  play 
has  been  staged  with  magnificent  cast  and  gorgeous  properties. 
BEN    HUR.    A  Tale  of  the  Christ.    By  General  Lew  Wallace. 

The  whole  world  has  placed  this  famous  Religious-Historical  Ro- 
mance on  a  height  of  pre-eminence  which  no  other  novel  of  its  time 
has  reached.  The  clashing  of  rivalry  and  the  deepest  human  passions, 
the  perfect  reproduction  of  brilliant  Roman  life,  and  the  tense,  fierce 
atmosphere  of  the  arena  have  kept  their  deep  fascination.  A  tre- 
mendous dramatic  success. 

BOUGHT  AlSiD  PAID  FOR.     By  George  Broadhurst  and  Arthur 
Hornbiow.          Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  stupendous  arraignment  of  modern  marriage  which  has  created 
an  interest  on  the  sta^e  that  is  almost  unparalleled.  The  scenes  are  laid 
in  New  York,  and  deal  with  conditions  among  both  the  ncii  and  poor. 

The  interest  of  the  story  turns  on  the  day-by-day  developments 
r-hich  show  the  young  wife  the  price  she  has  paid.  _ 

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GROSSET  &    DUNLAP'S 

DRAMATIZED  NOVELS 

Original,  sincere  and  courageous — often  amusing — the 
kind  that  are  making  theatrical  history. 

MADAME  X.    By  Alexandre  Bisson  and  J.  W.  McCon- 
aughy.      Illustrated    with    scenes    from    the    play. 
A  beautiful  Parisienne  became  an  outcast  because  her  hus- 
band would  not  forgive  an  error  of  her  youth.    Her  love  for 
her  son  is  the  great  final  influence  in  her  career.    A  tremen- 
dous dramatic  success. 

THE  GARDEN  OF  ALLAH.    By  Robert  Hichens. 

An  unconventional  English  woman  and  an  inscrutable 
stranger  meet  and  love  in  an  oasis  of  the  Sahara.  Staged 
this  season  with  magnificent  cast  and  gorgeous  properties. 

THE  PRINCE  OF  INDIA.    By  Lew.  Wallace. 

A  glowing  romance  of  the  Byzantine  Empire,  presenting 
•with  extraordinary  power  the  siege  of  Constantinople,  and 
lighting  its  tragedy  with  the  warm  underglow  of  an  Oriental 
romance.  As  a  play  it  is  a  great  dramatic  spectacle. 

TESS  OF    THE    STORM    COUNTRY.     By  Grace 
Miller  White.     Illust.  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 
A  girl  from  the  dregs  of  society,  loves  a  young  Cornell  Uni- 
versity student,  and  it  works  startling  changes  m  her  life  and 
the  lives  of  those  about  her.    The  dramatic  version  is  one  of 
the  sensations  of  the  season. 

YOUNG    WALLINGFORD.     By  George    Randolph 

Chester.     Illust.  by  F.  R.  Gruger  and  Henry  Raleigh. 

A  series  of  clever  swindles  conducted  by  a  cheerful  young 

man,  each  of  which  is  just  on  the  safe  side  of  a  State's  prison 

offence.    As  "  Get-Rich-Quick  Wallingford,"  it  is  probably 

the  most  amusing  expose  of  money  manipulation  ever  seen 

on  the  stage. 

THE  INTRUSION  OF  JIMMY.    By  P.  G.  Wode- 

house.     Illustrations  by  Will  Grefe. 
Social  and  club  life  in  London  and  New  York,  an  amateur 
burglary  adventure  and  a  love  story.    Dramatized  under  the 
title  of  "A  Gentleman  of  Leisure,"  it  furnishes  hours  of 
laughter  to  the  play-goers. 

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li  =t 

WHEN  PATTY  WENT  TO  COLLEGE,    By  Jean  Webster. 

Illustrated  by  C.  D.  Williams. 

One  of  the  best  stories  of  life  in  a  girl's  college  that  has  ever  beem 
mitten.  It  is  bright,  whimsical  and  entertaining,  lifelike,  laughable 
and  thoroughly  human. 

JUST    PATTY.    By  Jean  Webster. 

Illustrated  by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

Patty  is  full  of  the  joy  of  living:,  fun-loving,  given  to  ingenious 
mischief  for  its  own  sake,  with  a  disregard  for  pretty  convention  which, 
is  an  unfailing  source  of  joy  to  her  fellows. 

THE  POOR  LITTLE  RICH  GIRL,    By  Eleanor  Gates. 

"With  four  full  page  illustrations. 

This  story  relates  the  experience  of  one  of  those  unfortunate  chil- 
dren whose  early  days  are  passed  in  the  companionship  of  a  governess, 
eeldoni  seeing  either  parent,  and  famishing  for  natural  love  and  tender- 
ness. A  charming  play  as  dramatized  by  the  author. 

REBECCA  OF  SUNNYBROOK   FARM,       By  Kate  Douglas 
."Wiggin. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  studies  of  childhood — Rebecca's  artistic, 
unusual  and  quaintly  charming  qualities  stand  out  midst  a  circle  of 
austere  New  Englanders.  The  stage  version  is  making  a  phenominal 
dramatic  record. 

KEW  CHRONICLES  OF  REBECCA,   By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin. 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

Additional  episodes  in  the  girlhood  of  this  delightful  heroine  that 
carry  Rebecca  through  various  stages  to  her  eighteenth  birthday. 

REBECCA  MARY,    By  Annie  Hamilton  DonnelL 

Illustrated  by  Elizabeth  Shippen  Green. 

This  author  possesses  the  rare  gift  of  portraying  all  the  grotesque 
little  joys  and  sorrows  and  scruples  of  this  very  small  girl  with  a  pa- 
thos that  is  peculiarly  genuine  and  appealing. 

EMMY  LOU;    Her  Book  and  Heart,    By  George  Madden  Martin. 

Illustrated  by  Charles  Louis  Hinton. 

Emmy  Lou  is  irresistibly  lovable,  because  she  is  so  absolutely  real. 
She  is  just  a  bewitchingly  innocent,  hugable  little  maid.  The  book  is 
wonderfully  human. 

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